The Jewel in the Crown
by katia1
Summary: Now complete! When a hunt founders in India, Syd and Nigel’s lives become entwined with those of an American adventuress, and two English brothers, who sought the relic over a century before. Will their forgotten secrets reveal all? For Tanya Reed.
1. Prologue

**Dedication: For Tanya Reed. Happy Birthday!!! I hope you enjoy reading this story as much I enjoyed writing it.**

**Disclaimers: I don't own Relic Hunter. Nods are also owed to novels by Anthony Trollope, Wilkie-Collins, E.M.Forster, a few others, and, um, The X-Files.**

**Note to all: This is just a short taster/prologue for what will be another rather long, historical adventure! It's not the short, sweet nothing-nasty-happens story I promised, but I'm afraid this just idea demanded to be written. Anyway, I've churned out reams of this stuff but I'm not posting any more yet, because it's not Tanya's birthday until Saturday!**

The Jewel in the Crown

by Katia

_**Prologue: 21st Century. **_

_**Malabi Mountains, India. **_

The heat was intoxicating. As Nigel followed Sydney up the deep, narrow ravine that led to the entrance of the cave, he lifted the corner of his unbuttoned shirt to wipe the perspiration from his brow. It was a futile effort. The shirt was so wet through that it could absorb little more.

Nigel paused, leaning with his hand against the rock-face, gathering his breath and watching as Sydney forged energetically on ahead. He wondered, admiringly, how she rarely displayed any signs of heat and exhaustion, despite the tight black lycras, which clung to her every curve. Then he sighed and continued after her.

'Nigel! I can see the cave entrance! We've found it!'

Sydney was very excited. This had been the culmination of three years research by Saritha, a much-loved friend and ex-student of hers. Saritha now worked at a museum in Calcutta, where she had uncovered coded, archival documents, created over two centuries ago. She believed they revealed the route to the cave in which was interred the legendary Diamond Ruby.

The said stone, a diamond-shape red jewel, of over two inches in parameter, had originally been embedded in the crown of a statue of Vishnu the Preserver, the Hindu God. It had been hidden in 1799, when British troops had sacked the city of Seringapatam and damaged the temple in which the statue rested. In order to stop the precious and sacred relic falling into the hands of the Imperial plunderers, the elders of the city had hidden it in a cave, far from anywhere, the location of which had apparently been an unbroken secret - until now. Becoming stuck on the verge of pin-pointing its whereabouts, Saritha called Sydney, who had eagerly stepped in to finish the task.

'Come on, Nigel!' entreated Sydney. 'This is it. I just know it.'

The entrance to the cave was narrow, a slit in the rock tapering to nothing above their heads, and thin enough only for one to enter at a time. As Sydney eagerly stepped up to the opening, Nigel, who had finally caught up, stilled her, wrapping his fingers around her arm.

'Wait. This place seems, um, odd.' He frowned, searching for the words to explain himself better. 'It's… strangely familiar. Could I have read a description of it in a book somewhere?'

'I shouldn't think so,' replied Syd. 'The ruby has been sealed away for over two hundred years. The only people who may have been back to check were the noble family who were entrusted with guarding the secret. But even Saritha couldn't find out who they were, and I doubt they would have disturbed it. Let's go.'

She stepped through the entrance, leaving Nigel dithering on the sand.

'Then why do I know that this small entrance opens up to a large cavern,' he muttered. 'And why do I _really_ not want to go in there?'

This was silly, he told himself. He swallowed his fear as best he could, and stepped through the entrance.

Sydney had lit a large wooden torch, which she had wrested from its two-century old fitting on the wall. She was gazing around, her eyes scanning for danger yet eager for the culmination of the hunt. This was clearly the cave they'd been searching for: not only were there the torches but, on the far side, the light of the flame fell upon a large, ornamented door. Saritha had described one just like it as guarding the resting place of the jewel.

'No traps here,' called Sydney, hoping this would reassure Nigel. 'You've got to see the door. It's amazing!'

She strode across the room, not looking back for a moment. She expected that Nigel would quickly overcome his exhaustion and apprehension and be as keen as she was, now they were so close to the relic.

'It's magnificent,' she gasped, as the full radiance of the golden portal shimmered in the light. 'Nigel, you've got to get a photograph of this…Nigel?'

Even in the split-second it took to turn her head, Sydney knew that something was wrong.

Nigel was nowhere to be seen, but there was a figure lying in the middle of the cave floor, which certainly had not been there a second ago. She took a small step closer, holding out the light, and then gasped.

The body slumped on its side on the floor _was_ Nigel, yet it wasn't the late twenty-something man who was accompanying her on the hunt. This Nigel seemed little more than a child, slight to the verge of thinness, and his skin deadly pale. His clothes resembled a 19th-century soldier's uniform, with a tailored scarlet tunic and black wool trousers, quite inappropriate for a stifling day in India.

Although unable to decipher the meaning of what she saw, Sydney's instincts told her to hold him, to comfort him. But she couldn't. Even as her eyes focused on the boy lying at her feet, the rest of her world descended into a stupor. She told her body to stoop and her hands to reach forward, but nothing responded. She tried to call out to him, yet she couldn't muster a croak.

She blinked her eyes deliberately: it was all she could do.

When she opened them, the figure in front of her had propped himself tentatively up onto an elbow and was also blinking, bleary and bewildered.

'Syd? What the hell happened?'

'Nigel!' Sydney was at his side in an instant, to her relief registering that this was _her_ Nigel. Boyish but not a boy, and sturdy enough, he was dressed again in familiar blue cotton, sweat-soaked shirt and light, beige slacks. The soldier's uniform had vanished.

'I don't know what happened,' admitted Sydney, concealing her extreme agitation. 'You tell me? Are you okay?'

Nigel sat up a little further and shook himself, as if ascertaining this very fact. 'I think so. I must have fainted or something. Dehydration probably… '

He stopped dead as Sydney's face was illuminated by the torchlight. It was harrowed and drained, almost unfamiliar.

'My God, Syd, are _you_ alright? You look like you've seen a ghost!'

Sydney managed a thin smile, and decided not to tell Nigel what she saw, for now at least, partially because she didn't quite know how. She reached into his backpack, retrieved a bottle of water and handed it to him.

'I'm fine Nigel. No ghosts. You should know by now that you need to drink a lot of liquids when we go on these journeys.' Nigel obediently took a swig of the water.

'I feel fine, now.'

'Great,' said Syd. 'We need to get through this door.'

Sydney made her way back over to the door as Nigel pulled himself to his feet, brushing the dust from his trousers.

'Very odd,' he murmured to himself. There was certainly something 'off' about this place.

Sydney was looking at the coloured jewels embedded in the door, and some text engraved nearby. Saritha had mentioned that there would be some sort of combination lock, and some text to translate in a complex dialect.

She could feel Nigel's presence at her shoulder, his warm breath against her neck.

'There's no need to translate it or fiddle with the combination,' he said slowly. 'The lock's broken.'

'How the heck do you know that, Nigel?'

Nigel shrugged. 'I don't know, but I _do_ know. If you see what I mean.' He grimaced apologetically, thinking he must sound like an idiot.

'Maybe there _is_ a book about this somewhere that Saritha missed,' she mumbled reassuringly, even though deep inside she knew that there was not. She also suppressed the gut feeling that Nigel's knowledge was connected to her vision: the Nigel, who _wasn't_ Nigel.

She pressed gently on the door. It clicked and shifted ajar, barely an inch. Sydney slipped graceful fingers into the gap, and pushed it open a little further, peeping in.

From where he was, there was no way that Nigel could see what she now observed. Still, he said:

'The jewel isn't there. The chamber's empty.'

Sydney flung the door open, shining her flaming torch into the empty space. 'How did you know, Nigel? All the sources indicated that the jewel was hidden here in 1799, and hadn't been disturbed since.'

Nigel shook his head slowly, utterly at a loss. Nevertheless, as Sydney examined the edges of the gorgeous door more closely, she could see that it had indeed been hacked open. There were signs of blows by a bludgeon or an axe.

'Damn,' said Sydney. 'Somebody has definitely been here before.'

Their eyes locked together, and they shared a deep knowledge that neither of them knew how to express.

Nigel shivered. It was cool in the cave, but that didn't explain how he had gone from sweltering to shivering in barely a few minutes. 'I don't like this place, Syd. Let's get out of here.'

'I'll go with that,' agreed Syd. 'This place has given me a weird sense of…'

'Déjà vu?'

'Yeah… and something else,' murmured Sydney. 'Let's get back to the hotel, and start the research over. I've a feeling we're going to have to do a _lot_ more hunting if we're going to get this relic to the museum in Calcutta for their celebration of Vishnu next month.'

Nigel was out of the cave ahead of her before she'd finished the sentence. He took a deep breath of the warm, humid air, acutely aware of the steady beat of his heart. Despite their failure, and the prospect of the arduous journey back to the hostel, he felt an unexpected wave of jubilance.

'It's wonderful to be out relic hunting with Sydney,' he mused, smiling to himself. 'I'm just so lucky. Yes, it's _great_ to be alive…'

…………………………

**Thanks for reading. Please review. More to come on Tanya's birthday!!!**


	2. Part one: Waltzing

**Disclaimer: Don't own Relic Hunter etc.**

**Thanks for the reviews…. **

**Happy Birthday Tanya! **

………………………….

**21st Century: Hotel Meerut, India. **

Nigel knelt on the bed in Sydney's hotel room, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was avidly peering down into the screen of his laptop.

'Syd, I think I might be on to something.'

Sydney looked up, still thumbing the thick pile of sheets that constituted Saritha's research.

'I'm glad if you are, because there's nothing here from the museum archives that indicates the Diamond Ruby has been seen or heard of since it was interred in the cave in 1799.'

'I don't suppose Saritha thought to check _The Times_ online archive, though, did she? Have a look at this.'

Sydney eased herself onto the bed behind Nigel and began reading over his shoulder. He continued:

'In this article, from 1875, there's a mention of a 'legendary' diamond-shaped Ruby from India, which sounds damn like our one. Rumour had it that it was offered as collateral for the setting up of a railroad company: the De Veleye Railroad Corporation. Apparently, Mr Frederick De Veleye was trying to woo the financial backing of the great American Engineer and Railway entrepreneur, Randolph Carraway. His daughter was in London at the time, and the journalist seems to have believed she would close to deal on his behalf.'

He scrolled onwards. 'It doesn't say if anything came of it.'

'Randolph Carraway…' Sydney pondered. 'Of course! He was the father of the great adventuress, writer and early feminist, Sydney Carraway. She must have been the one visiting Britain in 1875. She was an avid traveller and made many donations to museums in Boston and India. Later, she campaigned tireless for women's suffrage. Sydney Carraway was one of the first women in the United States to cast her vote – in Colorado in 1893.'

'Help!' said Nigel. 'Not just another ballsy feminist, but one called Sydney! Not that there's anything wrong with being a feminist…'

'It _is_ a coincidence,' replied Sydney meditativley. 'I've always wanted to find out more about her. This could be a great opportunity.'

Nigel carried out an internet search for 'Sydney Carraway' and clicked onto a gender history webpage. A picture of the glamorous, middle-aged Miss Carraway at an 1890's suffrage rally flashed onto the screen. Her hair was stacked beneath a fashionable bonnet and she brandished a 'Votes for Women' banner.

'She even looked vaguely like you, Syd,' commented Nigel, transfixed. The face _did_ look somehow familiar to him.

Sydney, also thoroughly absorbed by the image, was thinking the same thing.

A shiver descended down her spine.

…………………………..

_**1875: London, Grosvenor Square. **_

_Miss Sydney Carraway smiled graciously, took the proffered hand of Sir Preston Finchley, baronet, and stepped down from the carriage into the swirling fog._

_Looming up behind iron railings, the windows of the grand townhouse were ablaze with glowing gaslight, against which were projected the dark silhouettes of many grand men and women. The buzz of their voices carried into the street, mingled with the lively hum of a string quartet. _

'_Welcome to my house, Miss Carraway,' beamed Sir Preston. 'Well, my townhouse anyway! I hope you will treat it is your own home during your stay in London. I'm sure everyone will like you just as much as I do!'_

'_Thankyou, Preston. I do hope they like me,' purred Sydney, although she expected not. She'd already shocked the baronet with her 'brash' and 'unladylike' American ways. He, poor fool, was so infatuated with her he would overlook anything. Those who weren't, she suspected, were unlikely to be so forgiving._

_Not that Sydney Carraway cared for what London society thought of her. She had decided to please Preston, for her own ends and because she liked him, but she bowed and simpered for no man. Besides, the real purpose of her visit to London was to find a precious relic and fulfil a promise to a friend. These were the things that mattered to Miss Carraway._

_She took his arm and they ascended the steps into a plush, scarlet-carpeted hall. _

_Although it was late September, and there was a chill in the air, inside it was as warm and humid as the Mediterranean in summer. Sydney took off her silk wrap and handed it, with thanks, to a hovering maid, who looked slightly hurt that the young lady had removed the simple item of clothing all on her own. _

_As Sydney had expected, Preston's eyes bulged at the plunging neckline and off-the-shoulder sleeves of her low-waisted black gown. A web-thin lace gauze highlighted rather than concealed the top of her cleavage. _

_Sir Preston, dressed in top hat and tails, smiled peevishly, and said:_

'_You look amazing.' It was the truth, but he couldn't help wondering what his guests would think._

_The footman announced their names as they swept into the large drawing room._

'_Sir Preston Finchley, Baronet, and Miss Sydney Carraway.'_

_The string quartet played on unperturbed, but the murmuring voices swelled in fascination, punctuated by all too audible stage-like whispers:_

'_Who is that foreign-looking woman?'_

'_She's an American, you know, the Carraway engineering and railway heiress. She's worth thousands…hundreds of thousands.'_

'_She's struck lucky with the handsome young baronet,' mused a particularly frumpy old dame, adorned with a disintegrating rose headpiece. Sir Preston was considered a highly eligible bachelor, with his height, good looks and his modish lamb-chop sideburns._

'_I think you will find it is the other way around.' A tall, thin faced woman, standing next to the frump, stooped conspiratorially as she hissed loudly: 'They say Sir Preston is nearly bankrupt. It's he who has struck gold. It's a shame to dilute the old English blood with 'new money', but I'm afraid that's the way we live now.'_

_Sydney found herself standing in the middle of the room, still clutching Preston's arm. The eyes of the whole, not insubstantial company, were boring holes in her now scanty-seeming gown. Preston was indecisive about what to say or do next. His mouth hovered open as if he was about to make an important announcement. _

_A military man with a handlebar moustache asked a much younger woman, his wife: _

'_So when do you think the wedding will be? Will it be here or in Kent?'_

_This was enough for Sydney, who yanked Preston by the tail of his jacket over towards a servant with a tray of champagne, and helped herself to a glass._

'_Sir Preston,' she said with a forced smile. Preston knew he was in trouble when he heard her place emphasis on his title. Sydney had told him when they first met that she had no reverence for such appellations. 'Why do I get the impression that you have been telling these people things about us that are not entirely true. Why do they think we're engaged?'_

'_I never said we were engaged,' protested Preston. 'I might have said, in my letters to various acquaintances, that I was bringing you back with me from Boston. They must have assumed the rest. And then when I said I was throwing a party for you…'_

'_You didn't 'bring me back' from Boston like some sort of souvenir, Preston. I've travelled all over the world by myself, I hardly needed you to look after me. We simply drank a few bottles of fine wine together, sailed on the same boat, and then you kindly invited me to stay at your house while I searched for suitable rooms. How did that turn into an engagement?'_

'_I don't know!' flustered Preston. 'I suppose people assumed that the one thing led to the other…' He took a gulp of champagne and shuffled his feet nervously. _

'_It wouldn't be such a bad thing would it?' Preston fixed her with passionate, piercing blue eyes. 'I mean, you and I…' _

_Sydney's pretty nose wrinkled in disgust, as Preston's cheeks grew ever redder. _

'_I don't mean an engagement yet,' he pleaded. 'But maybe if I wrote to your father…I could ask permission to court you?'_

'_My father doesn't decide for me which men I see, Preston,' barked Sydney. 'Besides,' her tone softened a little, 'we can never be more than friends. I will not marry, you know.'_

'_You don't intend to marry? Why, every woman wants to be married! Please tell me there is hope?'_

'_I have a life to lead,' said Sydney conclusively. Preston looked so disappointed that Sydney hadn't the heart to continue with the topic. She decided to concentrate on her mission. _

'_Now, weren't you going to introduce me to some of your guests? I met a gentleman once in Naples whom I believe you know well, Monsieur De Veleye. Is he here?'_

'_De Veleye?' replied Preston dejectedly, still reflecting on his botched proposal. 'Oh… I invited him. He's got a new railway scheme and he's looking for investors. He's keen for me to become a partner, you know.'_

_Sydney looked concerned. 'De Veleye has been trying to coax my father into business with him as well. Some haphazard scheme about a railway from Chicago to New Mexico! I've advised my father against it. I'd steer clear of De Veleye for business purposes, Preston.'_

'_Why do you want to meet him, then?' Preston was wondering whether, in the strange world of Sydney Carraway, 'not to be trusted' meant the sort of man that might induce her to marry him. He experienced a pang of jealousy._

'_Its about another sort of 'business': a ruby that belonged to a friend,' replied Sydney. 'But, if he isn't here, who shall I meet? I hate to say it, Preston, but the rest of your guests look rather dull.'_

'_These are the finest ladies and gentlemen in London society!' retorted Preston. 'Well, the ones I could induce to come. Parliament isn't sitting at the moment and most people are still out of town.' _

'_Do you have any family?'_

'_In terms of immediate family, I'm afraid I'm rather badly served. My poor mother, God rest her soul, died when I was fourteen, and I inherited my title on my father's death five years ago. I had a sister, but she passed on in childhood, poor little mite. So now, I'm afraid, there's only my brother, Nigel. He should be here somewhere '_

_Preston scanned across the room. _

'_Damn it, where is he,' he grumbled. 'I told Nigel to be here, entertaining the guests before I arrived, but I've no doubt he's cowering in the library! Would you kindly excuse me for a moment, Miss Carraway?'_

_He stomped off purposely, disappearing through a high door in the corner of the drawing room. _

_After a couple of minutes, in which Sydney had an uninteresting conversation about the weather with the lady in the crumbling-rose headpiece, Preston re-emerged from the door in the corner. He was bundling in front of him a dark-haired young man, who was several inches shorter than he. His brother was wearing a relatively casual three-piece tweed suit, with a colourful blue neckerchief, which stood in pleasant contrast to the rest of the guest's formal eveningwear. He appeared, from a distance, little more than a boy._

_As he approached, and Sydney scrutinized him more closely, Nigel looked little older, and neither brother looked very happy. They both looked rather ruffled and pink in the face, as if a brief, but heated, quarrel had taken place. _

_One sighting Miss Carraway, Nigel stopped dead in his tracks. She was more beautiful than the heroines of his wildest dreams. This was saying something: Nigel had spent a lot of his twenty-one years dreaming. _

_His progress towards her was restarted by an abrupt shove from Preston, who gave a strained smile and said:_

'_Miss Carraway, I'd like you to meet my brother, Nigel Finchley. Nigel – this is Miss Carraway. Now try not to bore her to death.'_

_Sydney saw the new arrival give Preston a sharp kick on the ankle and was both glad and amused to see the elder brother put in his place, albeit subtly. Nigel smiled uncomfortably and opened his mouth to address her, but Sydney got in first._

'_I'm charmed to meet you, Nigel.'_

_She offered him her hand, which he took eagerly and kissed, his lips brushing against her gloved hand with an appealing sensuousness. As his gaze arose to meet hers, an arresting twinkle in his eyes belied his otherwise callow outward appearance. Sydney, for the first time that evening, was a little surprised by someone. She had a feeling Nigel hated these formalities as much as she did. She liked this young man._

'_Miss Carraway,' he addressed her, his voice soft and mellifluous. 'It's an absolute honour to meet you.'_

_Yes, Sydney liked this young man._

'_Now we're all acquainted, then,' said Preston awkwardly, disliking the prolonged eye contact between his desired spouse and his little brother. _

_The string quartet had just struck up a fashionable new waltz by Strauss. __Preston took a liberty and Sydney's hand:_

'_May I have this dance, Miss Carraway?'_

_Sydney was about to reluctantly agree – despite her burning curiosity to get to know Nigel better - when a loud voice bellowed across the room._

'_Sir Preston!' _

_A rotund man with a slick, black moustache had just entered from the lobby and was gesturing wildly for Preston to come to him. Preston froze in fright. _

'_This is quite a show you've put on, man,' the newcomer bellowed. 'Only the most expensive wines, I see?' The man sipped champagne from a particularly full glass. _

'_Oh God,' muttered Preston, his hand rising to his brow in exasperation. 'I never invited him!'_

_He turned to Sydney, and asked politely: 'Will you excuse me a moment, Miss Carraway.' _

_Taking Nigel by the sleeve, Preston pulled him aside. Sydney observed them exchanging some agitated and none too brotherly words. She only caught the end:_

'_I don't expect you to obey me, Nigel,' snorted Preston. 'God forbid! You never have done, why should you start now? I'm just asking you to indulge me, on this one issue. It's not such a terrible request is it? I've never seen a more beautiful woman in all my life!'_

'_But I can't dance with her! I just can't!' _

'_You can and you will!' commanded Preston. He pushed Nigel in Sydney's direction, nodded apologetically at her, and then hurried off to tend to the moustachioed man._

_Nigel grimaced. 'I'm sorry about that. Preston seems to think you'd like to dance and he was wondering well…um, if you'd like to dance with me?' He added quickly: 'I can tell you now, I'm not very good.'_

_Sydney blessed him with her warmest smile. 'I'd love to dance, Nigel. And I'm sure you waltz very well.'_

'_Oh no!' said Nigel, with a self-effacing laugh. Nevertheless, he took her hand and led her into the middle of the room. They stood facing each other, with Sydney anticipating her partner's nerves, and Nigel wondering what on earth he should do next. _

'_Ah you going to take the lead, Nigel, or am I?' teased Sydney. He seemed such a boy._

_Nigel, desperately wanting to show her he was a man, took a deep breath and placed his hand around her waist. She rewarded him by slipping hers around his shoulder and shuffling a full couple of inches closer. _

'_Shall we dance?' she giggled._

'_With pleasure,' said Nigel, mustering a confident smile and attempting to prevent his gaze from wandering towards her barely concealed breasts. He thanked God the quartet were playing a waltz and not a polka._

_Matching the moves of a couple nearby, he led her off with a carefully placed step to the right. At this point, his left foot, which would rather have been in control, got rather muddled and accidentally landed upon Sydney's velvet slipper._

'_Oh my Goodness!' Nigel abruptly relinquished his hold on his partner. 'I'm so sorry…I'm such a clumsy oaf.' He glanced over Sydney's shoulder towards where Preston was soothing his unwanted guest, noting thankfully that his brother hadn't seen his misdemeanour. _

'_It's fine, Nigel. Just relax. Your brother dances divinely, and I'm sure you do to.'_

'_No I don't,' mumbled Nigel, but he slipped his hand back around her waist – a pleasure he wished to make the most of – and tried again. This time, he kept his eyes fixed on the activities of his boots, and counted one-two-three in his head as he executed his steps. _

_For the next few minutes, they hardly danced cheek-to-cheek. Despite this, Sydney realised that Nigel wasn't a bad dancer at all. She enjoyed the gentle way his hand rested on her hips and soon found that their movements synchronised disarmingly naturally. As the waltz entered its final stanza, Nigel looked up and smiled. _

'_I think I'm getting the hang of this. I have waltzed before, you know. But not for a while and only at our country balls in Kent. Of course, I've never danced with a woman like you!'_

_Sydney laughed, as Nigel began to swirl her around the room with some confidence._

'_So, what's so different about a woman like me? Is it my awful American accent?'_

_Nigel blushed. 'Of course not. I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend. I think your accent is lovely but, well, you are different. I've heard about you, Miss Carraway…'_

'_Call me Sydney, please,' interjected his partner._

'_Sydney…of course. I've heard about how you've travelled all over the Empire…the world even, looking for lost relics and evidence of ancient civilizations. I've read your book about your wonderful journey from France to Africa. Now, I have to say, no English girl I've ever met does that for a pass-time!'_

'_You've read my book!' Sydney was so delighted she nearly missed her step. Miss Carraway's, 'Memoirs of an Adventuress from Paris to the Nile', with its criticisms of Empire and its frank accounts of her experiences in Europe and elsewhere, had shocked much of polite East Coast society. It had barely been circulated beyond North America. _

_Nigel nodded enthusiastically, happy to have pleased her. 'I ordered it myself, having read about it in the 'New York Literary Review'. I can't say it was required reading for my classics degree at Oxford, but all ancient civilizations fascinate me. Yours was the most innovating book I ever read. I'd love to hear so much more! What's it really like to gaze upon the Great Pyramid at Giza? And how did you discover a tomb which belonged to an ancient pharaoh?'_

_Sydney let Nigel ramble on, busy digesting the startling fact that he was at Oxford. While Nigel had been surprised to see his heroine was such a young woman – Sydney was not yet twenty-eight – she thought that Nigel barely looked old enough to have exited the schoolroom! Eventually she said: _

'_I'll tell you all about it, Nigel, I promise. But, do tell me, have you just started the first year of your degree?'_

'_No,' said Nigel, who was now panting a little from the exertion of the dancing. 'I've just finished my second year at university and completed my bachelor's degree… a year early.' He added ruefully: 'I regret rushing it now. I'd love nothing more than to go back to do my Masters, but I can't.'_

'_Why?' asked Sydney. The music ended with a flourish, and the waltzers ground to a halt. Nigel's good spirits had also ceased. _

'_Why can't I do my Masters? Because… because Sir Preston has other plans for me.' Nigel glanced miserably over at the baronet. His 'friend' having been satiated with a whole bottle of champagne, Preston was watching them like a hawk. _

'_Look, he's unengaged now. Please, Miss Carraway, you'd be much better served dancing with my brother. I need to sit down, anyway.'_

_Sydney realised she'd hit a raw nerve. She watched, unsure how to rectify it, as Nigel stumbled away, grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter, and slumped down into a high-backed chair. Loosening his neckerchief, he took a healthy swig of the sparkling wine._

_She was about to go after him, when she felt Preston's yearning fingertips on her bare shoulder. _

'_I hope Podge didn't trample your dainty toes, Sydney.'_

_Sydney turned to him, perplexed. _

'_Podge? You mean Nigel? He danced beautifully. Why do you call him Podge? He's hardly fat, is he? Quite the opposite, in fact.'_

_They both looked over at Nigel, who had drained his glass but showed no sign returning to the party. After one dance, he seemed exhausted. _

'_Yes, well, he was a little 'podgy' as a child. And these terms of affection stick, you know!'_

'_Do they?' asked Sydney sarcastically. 'Well, Its hardly appropriate now, Preston.' Her gaze had not moved from Nigel. 'Is he quite well?' _

_Preston was rather surprised at the notion that his little brother was in anything but fine fettle. _

'_Oh yes! I'm sure he is. He's probably not been eating enough, that's all. I expect he spent his allowance at Oxford on books, rather than dining, liquor and hunting like a normal chap. Ah well, a bit of soldiering will make a man of him, I've absolutely no doubt!'_

'_A bit of soldiering?'_

'_Oh yes. It's the tradition for the second son in the Finchley family to join the army. And, especially in Nigel's case, I'm sure it'll be the best thing for him. I've purchased him a commission in the 6th Dragoon Guards, which cost me a great deal of money. I can't say he's conveyed much thanks, but he's bound to like it when he gets there. He joins his regiment in India next month.'_

_Nigel's distress was starting to make sense. 'Are you sure he wouldn't rather return to Oxford to do his Masters?'_

_Preston snarled angrily at the mention of his brother's academic ambitions._

_'Oh, I see he's been asking you to plead his cause for him now, has he? The ungrateful little worm! After everything I've done… he knows I can't afford…' He broke off and forced a smile. 'I'm sorry, Sydney. You don't want to get involved in a silly brothers feud, now, do you? Let's worry about your business. I'm afraid it looks like De Veleye isn't going to be here. But I can take you to his offices the day after tomorrow.'_

'_Why not tomorrow?' asked Sydney. _

'_I'm busy, I'm afraid.' Preston darted a look at the moustachioed man, who was now starting on his third bottle of champagne._

'_I can go alone, can't I?'_

'_Sydney, please! This is London, not Boston. It would hardly be respectable for you to go waltzing into to the city alone. Besides, his offices are not in a very salubrious area. There have been the most terrible crimes lately: garrotting decent folk for their purses and jewellery is all the rage among the lower orders.'_

'_Preston, how many times must I tell you? I've travelled halfway around the world by myself, and through areas of New York I'm sure London could never match. I think I can cope with walking down a street alone in broad daylight. I'm going tomorrow.'_

'_Hmph.' Preston already knew Sydney well enough to realise he couldn't argue with her when her mind was made up. 'If you must go, I'll send Nigel with you. I can't say he'll be much deterrent to the rogues and pickpockets, but at least you'll have a chaperone.'_

'_I'd like that,' said Sydney. 'I'd like to hear more about his studies. He's read my book, you know?'_

_Preston groaned. 'See? I gave him a generous allowance – for a younger brother, that is – and then he spent all his money on ridiculous books!' He backtracked at Sydney's offended glower. 'Not that yours is ridiculous, of course. It's very, err, informative… but I still think we'd better keep quiet about it around here. These people aren't very… radical minded, shall we say?'_

'_Don't worry, Preston,' snapped Sydney. 'I won't upset your guests with my brash, unladylike ways!' _

_She noticed that Nigel had alighted from his chair and was nowhere to be seen. She guessed he had slipped back to the library, or to bed. Thus, __Sydney resigned herself to an evening of dull company and of the pleasure of waltzing with Preston. He did, truly, dance divinely._

………………………………

**21st Century: Hotel Meerut, India**

Sydney and Nigel both stared in silence at the image of Miss Carraway at the 1890's rally for some moments.

Bestirring herself, Sydney blinked hard and found that she could no longer remember the thoughts that had engulfed her for the previous minutes. It was like awaking from an instantly forgotten dream. She slipped a hand on Nigel's shoulder, and felt him jump.

'Nigel?'

He shifted around to face her, causing her hand to recoil.

He appeared rather puzzled: 'I must be jetlagged or something, because I just had the most vivid daydream.'

'What did you see?' Sydney surprised him with the urgency of her inquiry.

'I guess it was Sydney Carraway…no, it wasn't. She wasn't an older woman like in the picture, she was young, beautiful, wearing a stunning, black, 1870's-style ball gown and…well…um.'

Their gazes locked together.

'Who was she, Nigel,' pleaded Sydney. 'I have to know.'

'She was you,' he said deliberately. 'But it's ridiculous, isn't it. It was just a daydream…'

'No,' said Sydney, shaking her head. 'I'm not sure it was. Nigel…in the cave today, did you see anything strange?'

'No…but, as I told you, it felt really odd. Sydney, I've never been to India before the first time I came with you, but, I swear, my every sinew told me I'd been in that cave before….but I can't have done.' He removed his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. 'My God, what am I on about? This must sound ridiculous.'

'No…it doesn't. I sensed something in that cave too. I _saw_ something. I wanted to tell you all the way back to the hostel…but I just…couldn't articulate it.'

'That doesn't sound like you, Syd.'

She shook her head slowly, a brittle smile glimmering as the words finally came to her.

'It was as if…history was trying to tell me some sort of deep truth that was embedded…inside of _me_.'

'What did you see, Syd?' Nigel's words were eager, expectant.

'I saw you, Nigel.'

'Me?'

'Yes…you were lying on the floor of the cave.'

'Well, yes,' said Nigel, slightly disappointed by the lack of revelation. 'I'm sorry about that. I fainted remember?'

'No, you don't understand. It was you…but it wasn't _you_. You were younger…and you were dressed differently, like a British soldier of the mid Victorian era.' Sydney paused, wondering how her next assertion would be received: 'It could have been you…in a former life.'

Nigel said nothing, but the concentrated expression on his face intensified. He wanted to tell her that heat and tiredness had played tricks with her mind, and that 'former lives' were just for lovable but gullible people like Claudia. But he couldn't lie to her, not after what he'd sensed in that cave.

Sydney could see that Nigel was disturbed by something he couldn't yet share, and understood.

'Hey, maybe it wasn't really you,' she said, giving him an encouraging rub on the arm. 'And maybe there is no connection beyond name between Miss Carraway and myself. But history is trying to tell us something, I can feel it. I think we might find out more on this hunt than just the whereabouts of the Diamond Ruby.'

'I thought you said history lies, Syd. Isn't that the first rule of relic hunting?'

'Not this time,' said Sydney with some confidence. 'On this occasion, I think it's attempting to tell us the truth.'

The grave atmosphere was suddenly shattered as Sydney grinned and jumped from the bed. She raised her arms elegantly like a ballerina, and her feet began mimicking waltz steps with some dexterity. She began humming an old tune by Strauss.

Now Nigel was _really _confused: 'What the hell are you doing?'

'I don't know,' said Sydney, spinning towards him, breathless and happy. 'But I feel like dancing…you can join me if you like! '

'I'd rather not,' answered Nigel quickly, screwing up his nose in sheer bewilderment. Former lives he could deal with, but Sydney waltzing around the hotel room was just plain ridiculous. Wasn't she more into tribal than ballroom dance? Besides, waltzing reminded him of Preston, which was never a merry notion. Nigel bitterly recalled that his brother, despite otherwise being a blundering oik, could swing a girl around a ballroom nearly as well as he played the piano.

He shuffled back against the pillows at the headboard, and concentrated on his laptop, attempting not to be distracted by Sydney's euphoria.

'Um… if you don't mind me shifting to the subject back to, um, relic hunting, shouldn't I be asking Karen to books us to flights or something?'

'Book us some flights, Nigel,' commanded Sydney with a twirl. 'We're going to London!'

'I'll, um, just be doing that then.'

Glad of the excuse, Nigel jumped up and scuttled from the room, deciding he'd had enough weirdness for one day. All the same, he couldn't help musing that waltzing with Sydney, in the right time and place, could have been rather pleasant.

…………………….

**Thanks for reading. Please Review.**


	3. Part two: Matching of minds

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**_1875: Finchley Residence, Grosvenor Square. The morning after the party._**

_Sydney was already onto her sixth cup of tea, and was starting to wish that the butler would stop incessantly refilling the delicate china cup, when Nigel finally emerged._

_It was nearly half past ten. He wished her a cheery good morning, and took his place at a respectful distance on the other side of the table. _

'_Good morning, Nigel,' replied Sydney. _

'_And how are you this morning, Miss Carraway?'_

'_I'm fine. Call me Sydney, remember? Did you sleep well?' _

_In pursuing this line of inquiry, Sydney wasn't being as conventional as she sounded. For a reason she had not quite put her finger on, she had been sincerely anxious about Nigel the night before, and was keen to know if he was alright._

'_I slept wonderfully,' replied Nigel, stretching his arms behind him as if still waking up. He looked a little pale, but seemed jaunty enough. Sydney decided that her fears were probably unfounded._

_The butler poured Nigel a cup of tea. _

'_Wonderful,' he beamed. 'Thank you, Matthews.'_

_He took a sip, and then placed the cup down quickly with a clatter. 'I'm terribly sorry, I've completely forgotten my manners. Have you eaten enough, Miss Carr…err, Sydney.'_

_'More than enough, thankyou,' returned Sydney. 'We don't usually serve Curry for breakfast in Boston. It takes some getting used to!'_

'_Oh, yes, sorry about that. It's all the rage in the best London houses, you see? Sir Preston likes to keep up with the latest fashions, even at breakfast.' Sydney detected a hint of irony and a barely suppressed scowl. _

'_And I suppose he wants me to get used to Indian cuisine,' continued Nigel. 'Of course, I like it. But I'm not sure I can take it at breakfast.'_

_He called over Matthews and requested a couple of slices of buttered toast. The butler acknowledged the desire sympathetically, and scuttled off to sort this out._

'_Just out of interest, where is my dear brother?'_

'_He left an hour or so back,' replied Sydney. 'He had business with a Mr Parker.'_

'_Oh,' Nigel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'Oh dear.'_

'_Who is Mr Parker? Is he the moustachioed man from the party last night?'_

_Nigel was on the verge of lying to her, as Preston had instructed him. He found he just couldn't do it. He moaned with an anguish that shocked his guest, thrust his forehead into his hand, his elbow on the table and entangled his fingers in his hair. _

'_You might as well know the truth, Miss Carraway. It'll be all over London soon enough and you won't want to be associated with us then.' He quickly checked that none of the servants were in the room._

'_Parker is the wine merchant, and Preston owes him money. He owes everyone money, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker…not to mention the bloody tailor! The family estate in Kent is mortgaged to the hilt, and we owe so much back-rent on this place that we can't even give it up. I knew that father left things in a mess… but everything Preston touches turns to disaster!' _

_Seeing Matthews return with the toast, Nigel stopped talking abruptly and slumped back in his chair, now appearing every bit as tired and dejected as last night. Sydney gave the butler a breezy smile, as he deposited the dish and left the room again. She then arose from her seat and went over to Nigel._

_She placed her hand on his shoulder. 'I'm sure it's not as desperate as you think,' she said. 'Preston was not doing badly with his business in Boston, you know? He met with my father - that's how we were introduced. They were thinking of becoming partners on a railroad.'_

'_He's got nothing left to do business with!' lamented Nigel. 'Your father should stay away, or he'll be tainted with catastrophe too. Oh hell, Preston! Why do you always have to be so inept?'_

'_He must have some capital left, Nigel. How did he afford your commission in the army?'_

'_He spent the last of my trust fund on it… my last hope of staying at Oxford.' Nigel sniffed, but added in a resigned tone 'I can't blame him for that, really. It is family tradition for the second son to enter the army.' _

'_Maybe it's time to break with that tradition?' suggested Sydney. _

_Nigel shook his head. 'Too late, I'm afraid. I'm just going to make the most of my last month in England. Without spending any money, of course!'_

'_It's never too late, Nigel.' _

_Sydney's mind was racing to find a solution to this boy's problems. Indeed, she was somewhat perturbed by the intensity of her desire to do something for him. No obvious solution was forthcoming, but she resolved she would help him - and his brother, if that's what it took. _

'_Let's start by making the most of today, shall we?' suggested Sydney cheerily. 'Preston says you're to accompany me into town on business. We'll go after breakfast, shall we? Then we can talk things over? Everything will be just fine, Nigel, I promise.'_

_Nigel cautiously lifted his own hand to touch her ungloved fingers, still resting on his shoulder. 'Thank you for being so kind, Sydney.' He stroked her hand gently, knowing he was being audacious. _

_Sydney took his hand in hers and squeezed it. 'I like to help my friends, Nigel. It's what I do.' _

_Seeing a maidservant enter she reluctantly let him go, and returned to her seat. _

'_Finish your toast, then,' she instructed perkily. 'We've got a busy day ahead.' _

…………………………………………

**21st century: Heathrow airport**.

By the time Sydney and Nigel's flight touched down in England, and they had waited the best part of an hour to be reunited with their luggage, they were more exhausted and jetlagged than ever.

As they exited the arrivals lounge in the direction of the taxi rank, however, Sydney felt a tingle of anticipation.

'You know, Nigel, London might not be the most exotic location to pursue a relic, but I've got a feeling this is going to be a big one. And I'm just dying to find out more about Sydney Carraway.'

'Miss Carraway, yes, very interesting,' mumbled Nigel, distracted and tired. He flung their bags into the boot of a cab, and clambered into the backseat ahead of Sydney.

'Where to?' asked the driver.

'24 Grosvenor Square, please,' yawned Nigel, lying back against the seat, ready for a nap.

Sydney was confused. 'I thought you said Karen booked us rooms in Bloomsbury?'

'What? Oh, yes, sorry. Russell Square, please.'

'Russell Square, then,' confirmed the cab driver.

'It's an easy mistake,' protested Nigel in response to Sydney's quizzical expression. 'They're both famous London locations.'

'Why number 24?'

'I've no idea,' replied Nigel grumpily. 'Now, if you've finished grilling me, am I allowed to catch up on some sleep? Why is it we only ever have one eye-mask for long plane journeys?'

Sydney raised her hands in submission and kept quiet. As always, she'd offered the eye-mask several times, but Nigel had refused it.

She too settled down for a doze on the long, traffic-clogged trail into the centre of London.

Consequently, neither relic hunters noticed a slim, ginger-haired woman, who had been watching them from a distance, climb into the cab behind.

'Follow the taxi in front,' she ordered the driver. She made an urgent call on her mobile phone.

'Mr Deviega? It's Molly Gages. Fox and Bailey arrived on the flight from Calcutta, as predicted. I'm trailing them now.'

…………………………………………

_**1875: Finchley Residence, Grosvenor Square.**_

_Nigel Finchley hailed a hanson cab, and ordered it to take them from 24 Grosvenor Square to the offices of the De Veleye Railroad Corporation, which were just off Threadneedle Street. _

_They chatted cheerily on the way, although Sydney noticed that Nigel went quiet, or swiftly change the subject, whenever she mentioned Preston, money or the army. He was keen to hear all about her travels, however, particularly her amazing finds in Egypt. In turn, she was fiercely interested to know of his education in the classics, his seemingly endless skill with languages, and his book-gained knowledge of ancient civilizations. _

_As a woman, Sydney had been barred from all universities. She had learned everything from her doting father, or taught herself on her wide-ranging travels. Nigel, on the other hand, may have rarely left the schoolroom and library, but he had been well-taught at Oxford. Sydney began to wonder if there was anything ever put into written form that he hadn't read. _

_It was the perfect matching of minds._

_They were both sorry when the cab drew up at the end of the lane that led the office. The alley-like side-street was too narrow for the hanson. Sydney took Nigel's hand as he helped her down from the carriage - a ritual she normally shunned but found she liked to indulge in the Finchley brothers - and they finished the journey on foot. _

_When they reached the address, its shabby, timber-framed facade belied origins in the mediaeval period. It was quaint, but a far cry from Sydney's father's fine, Boston apartments. Nevertheless, a brass panel on the door declared that this was the 'De Veleye Railroad Corporation.' Sydney strode up to the rickety wooden door, and wrapped upon it with her knuckles. _

_After a moment, a truly hideous, hooked-nosed old man came to the door. _

'_Shwat do you shawnt, m'shlady?'_

_Sydney could not help but screw up her nose and fan the air beneath it. The London streets smelled bad enough, but nothing had prepared her for his reeking breath and the spray of his spittle. The man was entirely devoid of any teeth._

'_He wants to know what you want,' hissed Nigel in her ear, in case she had not understood the man's slurring, cockney accent._

_Sydney nudged him, indicating his intervention was not necessary. 'My name is Sydney Carraway. I would very much like to speak to Mr De Veleye. We've met before and I believe he now wishes to go into business with my father.'_

_Sydney handed the old man a card, which he did not look at because he could not read. Sydney took a step back before he spoke again, avoiding a repeat of the unpleasantness._

'_I'll shee if he's shat home, miss,' gurned the old man. He tottered away, returning just a few moments later and beckoning the pair in. He then led them up a precarious staircase to a room on the first floor._

'_Miss Shydney Carraway,' the servant announced, and Sydney strode in without any further ceremony._

_De Veleye was a sturdy-built man in his early forties, handsome in a roguish fashion, and endowed with a mass of sandy blond hair. He was seated behind a large wooden desk, covered with papers, but rose when his guests entered._

'_Mr De Veleye,' Sydney offered a handshake, and curled a disapproving lip when the gentlemen pressed it to his mouth and kissed it._

'_Miss Carraway! To what do I owe this very great honour? Please take a seat… is your father well? I admire him so much. As, you know, I also admire you.'_

_These words grated with Nigel, who'd already taken a dislike to this suave businessman, not least because so far he'd been completely ignored._

'_Nigel Finchley. Very pleased to meet you, I'm sure.' He thrust his hand into the small space between Sydney and De Veleye, forcing the latter to relinquish the lady's hand and shake his._

'_Of the Kent Finchley's?' asked De Veleye, doing his best to look down his nose at the presumptuous young fellow. _

'_Yes,' replied Nigel quietly, wondering miserably how long he'd been ashamed of his name._

'_You must be the baronet's younger brother, then.' De Veleye gave a patronizing laugh. 'He's a fine man, is Sir Preston. We've done business together many times and he's always good for a game of cards or billiards down at the Bear-baiters Gentleman's Club. The baronet's a great gambling man!'_

'_No doubt,' said Nigel scornfully. He wondered how many of the Finchley coffers had found their way into De Veleye's greedy pockets. _

_Sydney decided it was time to get to the point:_

'_Mr De Veleye. I have been led to believe that you are in possession of a precious, diamond-shaped r__uby. You… 'appropriated' it, shall we say, from a young man in India. Since the ruby was taken from him, death has fallen upon him and disgrace on his family. I am here on behalf of his sister, Meena, a dear friend of mine, who wrote to me for help. She asks for the jewel back, to restore the honour of her brother__ and of her family.'_

_De Veleye laughed. 'Miss Carraway. I went to India as a missionary! I was doing God's work, not seeking worldly riches. What on earth makes you think I took a ruby?'_

_'Cut the horseshit, De Veleye,' snarled Sydney. 'Everybody knows that the missionary act was a cover for…' Sydney caught Nigel's stunned expression, and suddenly felt compelled to spare him the more sordid details of De Veleye's 'business.'_

_She continued, in a more subdued tone: 'Meena's family, of noble blood, had been trusted to guard the whereabouts of the Diamond Ruby, from the crown of Vishnu, since its temple was ruined by the British in 1799. Enticing him into your circle of gambling and vice, you drove Meena's brother, Achyuta, to such desperation that you gave him no choice but to take the jewel from its hiding place and give to you.'_

_'Ah, yes. I remember the gentleman…and the girl, too. Very pretty she was! But I'm afraid I took nothing from them.' He leaned in close and whispered sinisterly in her ear. 'Meena was all too happy to give me a little of her virtue, though.'_

_Sydney's hand stung against his cheek even as he finished the sentence._

'_Good God!' Nigel took an automatic step back, wondering if and how he should intervene. What had the man said to her?_

_De Veleye grinned as Sydney stared daggers. 'That's my girl! You are so beautiful when you are angry, Sydney. Do you remember that first night, in Naples? You struck me then, too.'_

'_There was no 'first night' De Veleye. Every time we meet, should always be the last. I know you have the Ruby. If you don't give it to me, I shall take it from you. If you know me a jot as well as you claim, you'll know I'm not bluffing. What will it be, De Veleye?'_

'_Ah Miss Carraway. You force my hand,' he leered. 'I'm afraid I do not have the Diamond Ruby. However, if you will grace my rooms with your presence tonight, you and I may be able to come to a little 'business agreement' by which I could let you know its whereabouts.'_

'_I don't do business with rogues, De Veleye,' spat Sydney._

'_Ah, but that isn't the truth, is it. I hate to shock your young friend here – who is endearingly concerned for your untarnished name – but you have, and you always will, 'deal' with the most depraved men. It's your little game, isn't it? Poor little rich girl…'_

_Sydney restrained herself from giving De Veleye a full-on sock on the jaw, while Nigel's mind boggled about what on earth De Veleye meant._

'_No private parties, De Veleye,' she growled. 'Where do you want to meet?'_

'_Its men only at The Bear-baiters, I'm afraid,' mused De Veleye. 'I know another little place, though, smaller and quieter, 'The Cathedral Close Club.' As I'm the owner, I can tell you now that they allow women…of all varieties.' He chuckled as he scribbled an address on the back of a card and handed it to her. _

'_I'll see you there at 9 o'clock this evening, Miss Carraway. You could even bring young Finchley, here. He looks like he could do with a little… 'education,' shall we say?'_

_Nigel glowered, but said nothing. He couldn't believe that Miss Carraway had the kind of habits that De Veleye had implied, despite the frank accounts he'd read in her book. He'd understood she'd just observed the diverse ways of life that she'd written about, all in the name of the art of anthropology._

'_I'll be there, De Veleye,' affirmed Sydney. 'But don't even consider trying anything on…'_

_She swept from the room and down the stairs, with Nigel chasing after her._

'_What did he mean…' puffed Nigel, catching up with her as she rounded the corner into Threadneedle Street. 'What did he mean about you dealing with depraved men? Not my brother, I hope? The scoundrel! I hope he hasn't detroyed your reputation, Sydney.' _

_Sydney could not help but laugh. 'No, Nigel. Not Preston. But don't listen to De Veleye…he knows little of me beyond rumours.' _

_She looked at her new friend and read burning curiosity in his keen, bright eyes. _

'_Maybe I should go alone this evening, Nigel. Or persuade Preston to come with me.'_

'_Good God, no!' retorted Nigel. 'They'd ply him with whisky and rob the coat off his back in that den of iniquity!'_

_Sydney raised her eyebrows, slightly amused. _

'_I'm not completely naïve!' he informed her proudly. 'I know all about the sordid underworld. I've read the newspapers… and a certain Miss Carraway's book, remember? Besides, I'm your chaperone on this little adventure, Sydney. And I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not!'_

……………………

**21st Century: London**

After two days of fruitless search, Nigel finally ran down the escalator to meet Sydney in the lobby of the British Library with good news, but mixed feelings.

'Success, Syd! At last! I've found a mention of De Veleye in the papers of an ancient Kentish gentry family, the Finchleys. Seems the 8th baronet, Sir Preston, had fallen on hard times – ha!' Nigel reflected, somewhat amused. 'Ineptitude must go with the name.'

Sydney rolled her eyes. 'I've had more than enough of your feuds with your brother for one lifetime…come on, I need to know more.'

'Well,' said Nigel, brandishing an A4 pad of penciled notes. 'I discovered several letters from Sir Preston to De Veleye. It seems they went into business together in 1873 – something about a canal through the Alps. It was a madcap scheme, and they both lost a lot of money. De Veleye disappeared off to India for a year - apparently as a missionary, but I have my doubts! Sir Preston barely put a step right, either, but he did go to Boston in June 1875 in a last ditch attempt to make his money back. There he met with the Carraways and, the daughter, Sydney, accompanied him back to London.'

'Good work, Nigel!' said Sydney. 'I've had little luck with tracing the Carraways on this side of the Atlantic. The business papers are back in Boston, so I've got Karen onto it. No archive seems to have any Carraway letters or personal writings - so they would be a worthwhile hunt in themselves! Did you get any addresses on De Valeye or the Finchleys?'

Nigel grimaced. 'The Finchley's owned an estate in Kent, Finchley Hall, and rented a house in…err, well, Grosvenor Square. Number 24. '

They shared a look, but said nothing.

'There are two addresses for De Veleye,' continued Nigel. 'One was in a lane just off Threadneedle Street, which was utterly obliterated during the Blitz in 1940. The other was in Dean Court, which is somewhere in the area behind Fleet Street. Once again, the area was badly bombed, but there might just be _something_ left.'

'Great! I think we should go after De Veleye before Finchley… despite the thing about, you know…'

'Grosvenor Square?' sighed Nigel.

'Yes. We're going to have to follow that up, you know? It can't just be another coincidence.'

'I suppose we'd better,' he conceded. His prior knowledge of Preston Finchley's London address had been disconcerting, to say the least.

'Fine,' said Sydney. 'Let's go to Fleet Street!'

'Now? Its 7pm on a Friday evening. That's part of the city will be seething.'

'The city's always seething,' retorted Sydney.

'Ah…every true Londoner knows that the historic city of London – the business quarter that is, where the old medieval heart once was – is dead on a Saturday morning. The tourists and shoppers flock to the west end and the workers are at home. If we wait until tomorrow, I promise you, Syd, there will be nobody there.'

Sydney bowed to his superior knowledge. 'Okay, Nigel. Tomorrow it is.'

'Which means we've got time for a nice meal?'

'I guess so,' laughed Sydney. 'I fancy Thai.'

'Lovely!' beamed Nigel. 'I know just the place.'

As Syd and Nigel left the library they saw a redheaded woman, perching on a bench shaped like a book, make an urgent call on her mobile. They never, unfortunately, heard her words:

'Mr Deviega? It's Molly. I've caught up with Fox and Bailey in the British Library. I think they must have a lead on the Diamond Ruby. They look incriminatingly happy.'

The voice on the other end cackled knowingly: 'Follow them, Molly. I'll send backup when you think they're about to make their move.'

The woman hung up and followed Sydney and Nigel, at some distance. She then enjoyed a meal of excellent Thai food.

……………………….

_**1875: Finchley Residence, Grosvenor Square.**_

_Sir Preston left for 'The Bear-baiters' after dinner, comfortable in the knowledge that his beautiful guest and his little brother were reading Darwin together in the drawing room, before retiring to bed._

'_I wish he wouldn't go there,' said Nigel, as they heard the hooves of his horse-drawn carriage fade away. 'It's a terrible place – billiard balls and oaths flying everywhere! And from what De Veleye said earlier, I'm starting to suspect that Preston's been gambling. Knowing my dear brother, he's bound to loose more than he gains.'_

'_We should try and pry him away,' agreed Sydney as she rose from her chair. 'But Nigel, the Bear-baiters is like the Kent Ladies Temperance Association compared to where we are going tonight. Are you sure you're ready for this?'_

'_Of course I am!' said Nigel, jumping up. 'I've got your honour to protect, Miss Carraway…Sydney. Besides, hadn't we better hurry? It's nearly 9 o'clock now!'_

' _Oh no,' replied Sydney. 'I don't actually want to see De Veleye, I just want to check the club for leads on the Diamond Ruby. It might even be hidden there. Believe me, the later we go, the easier it will be.'_

'_Ah, yes. You're waiting to them all to get drunk!' said Nigel knowingly. ' Shall I call for our walking jackets.'_

' _Yes,' replied Sydney. 'We might as well make a move. Be sure to wrap up warm'. _

_'It's still only September!' retorted Nigel, ringing a bell for the maidservant. 'There's no need to mother me,' he added, slightly embarrassed. 'I'm twenty-one, you know.'_

_Sydney smiled congenially, and wondered why she felt a compulsion to care for Nigel…but then he was a rather appealing young man. _

_She shrugged off these conjectures as her fashionable jacket bodice arrived, but gladly noted as Nigel put on his thick tweed jacket over his waistcoat._

'_I think it's magnificent,' said Nigel, as they walked down the steps into the swirling London fog, 'that you are doing all this for a friend.'_

_Sydney reached out and squeezed his hand: 'I like to help my friends, Nigel. I told you that.'_

_He turned to her and grinned excitedly: 'And we're going to retrieve a real Indian relic! I never thought I'd be one for expeditions but, now I'm with you, I feel like nothing can stop me…' He sighed happily. 'I'm on a mission with the greatest Adventuress who ever lived!'_

_Sydney just hoped she could live up to his expectations. 'Let's get in the cab Nigel,' she said, feeling the sting of the early autumn chill and regarding the ever-descending smog. 'It's a real pea-souper tonight!'_

……………………

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	4. Part three: Dangerous Places

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for the nice reviews.**

**Note: I wanted to use Deviega in this story because he is a particularly nasty baddie and I like the personal tension with Sydney. However, I'm already drowning in so many plot threads that I didn't want to becoming embroiled with the Gural Nataz (sp?) or with him having half his face blown off! So, he's just a kind of independent villain in this...in case anyone was wondering, I guess that would set this early season three or in a slight alternative universe. So that gets that cleared up!**

**Warning: major overdose of Victorian melodrama. Sorry! **

……………………………………

**_1875: City of London, near Fleet Street._**

_The cab driver refused to take Sydney and Nigel all the way to Dean Court and De Veleye's club._

'_I'm not driving my hanson up there!' he retorted. 'They'd strip the wheels off!_

'_Nice young lady and gent, like you,' he muttered as Sydney handed him some coins. 'You shouldn't be going to places like that…and on a night like this. Keep hold of that purse ma'am. If you can!'_

_With that he gee'd up his horse, and the cab was gone._

_Linking arms, Sydney and Nigel made their way up the narrow street, which was lined by high, crumbling stone tenements. Not that they could see them: the fog was far too thick to discern anything beyond their looming presence on either side of the narrow, cobbled track. The infrequent streetlamps penetrated the gloom only in small, hazy patches. Sydney could see shapes scuttling nearby. Although they were barely yards away, it was impossible to tell if they were man, woman or beast._

_Nigel snuggled close, hoping he wasn't taking a liberty. He was beginning to think that exciting relic hunting missions may have their drawbacks, and was praying that they got out of this dreaded part of town alive._

_Sydney sensed her 'chaperones' fear: 'don't worry,' she assured him. 'I've made my way through far worse places on my travels. We'll be just fine.' Nevertheless, Sydney was uneasy, too… _

_She had barely finished speaking when she was seized roughly from behind, and a hood flung over her head._

_Sydney was primed for action and knew what to expect. Before the garrotter could place the leather strap around her neck, she kicked backwards sending her attacker flying, and swiftly yanked the hood from her face. A second man was on her in an instant, but she swung around and laid him out unconscious with a spinning high-kick to the head._

'_Good God! Sydney!' Nigel, terrified as he was, couldn't believe what he was seeing. He didn't know women could fight at all, let alone do that!_

_A third assailant fell upon her. Nigel was gathering the courage to launch himself into the fray, when he was also grabbed, and pulled back to the side of the street._

'_Sydney!'_

_Sydney heard the call, and repelled her latest opponent with vicious, right hook to the jaw._

'_Nigel?' Sydney ran into the fog in the direction of the cry. She could see nothing in the dark smog, so she thrust forward wildly. Her growl was guttural: 'Get your hands off him, or you're a dead man.'_

_There was a scuffle, another small cry from Nigel, then the sound of sharply departing footsteps._

'_Syd…Sydney? I'm here…I think they've gone.'_

_Stumbling into a ray of flickering candlelight, which drifted from a window, Sydney found herself just feet away from the side of one of the buildings. She could see Nigel, not two yards off, leaning up against the wall. His hand was clutched to his chest and he was clearly both very shaken, and extremely out of breath. He was also entirely devoid of his hat, jacket and boots._

'_Oh, Nigel.' She ran over and hugged him to her. She could feel his heart beating wildly. 'I should never have let you come,' she murmured._

'_No…I'm perfectly alright,' he panted, leaning gratefully into her embrace and resting his forehead down against her shoulder. 'Preston's ….going to kill me…about the boots and jacket...'_

'_Don't worry, I'll sort that out.' She instinctively lifted a hand and stroked the back of his hair. 'Are you sure you're not hurt?'_

_At first, Nigel's breathless silence alarmed her more than her whole trio of attackers. After a moment, he gathered himself and backed away a little, evidently rather embarrassed._

'_I'm terribly sorry,' he said, glancing up into Sydney's concerned face. 'I don't know what came over me. Are you alright? Did they take your purse?'_

'_I'm fine.' Sydney, relieved Nigel had recovered, checked her belt. Her purse was still dangling where she'd left it. 'No, they didn't take anything. How strange.'_

_A thought struck her. 'Maybe they didn't mean to rob us. They knew who we were and wanted to warn us off…or shake us up a bit.'_

_Nigel frowned. 'Then why did they take my clothes?'_

'_Well,' considered Sydney. ' They might not all have been working together. My three assailants were, but I think you were just the victim of a passing opportunist.'_

'_Lovely,' said Nigel bitterly. She could tell he was still thinking about what Preston would say._

'_Don't worry about replacing your clothes. I can pay for them…'_

'_I couldn't possibly let you do that. It wouldn't be right.'_

'_It would be perfectly right,' said Sydney firmly. 'It's my fault you're here at all. Now let's get you into a cab home, and I'll do the rest of this alone.'_

'_No!' Nigel replied with equal resolution. 'If I'm going to let you pay my tailors bill, then you're going to let me come with you. At least I'm still vaguely respectable – thank God they didn't take my trousers.' He managed a thin smile._

_Sydney rubbed Nigel's arms, now covered only by his thin shirt sleeves. 'You'll get cold, Nigel.'_

_He shrugged. 'We'll be inside soon. I doubt this place we're heading for has a dress code.' He grinned cheekily, his excitement at the quest returning. 'Maybe we could steal the boots off a sleeping opium eater!'_

'_Maybe we should,' replied Sydney, only half joking._

_Taking his arm again, they trudged off up the lane. Sydney was more vigilant than ever, while Nigel silently cursed the jagged stones beneath his now un-booted feet._

_After a minute of silence, he ventured a burning question: 'Sydney, if you don't mind me asking, where on earth did you learn to fight… like that? I've never seen anything like it.'_

'_No,' said Sydney, 'you wouldn't have. It's a martial art I learnt in the East. What with nobody expecting a woman to fight, and then my knowing a few moves that surprise them, most men don't stand a chance against me. It's amazing how high you can kick if you don't wear too many petticoats or lace your bodice too tight!'_

_Nigel chuckled. 'Maybe you should teach me a thing or two before I join the army. I hope I don't have to wear a bodice and petticoats, though!'_

'_I don't think that will be necessary, Nigel,' laughed Sydney. 'Ah…here we are.'_

_A bright oil-lamp was hanging over the top of some steps that led down into a basement tenement. A sweet, pungent odour snaked its way from a glowing room below street-level. Even if there hadn't been a rusty brass plaque labeling the 'The Cathedral Close,' Sydney would have known this was the place, just from the intoxicating, sickly scent._

'_I'm imagining this isn't going to resemble a Sunday stroll around Canterbury cathedral close,' observed Nigel._

'_I doubt it, Nigel,' she whispered. 'I think we might just find your opium eaters down here!'_

_Nigel nodded in silent, shocked agreement, and followed her down the steps. Despite his quips, he hadn't expected a real opium den. Being with Sydney Carraway was like living a wild, dark - and wonderful - dream._

…………………………

**21st-century: City of London, near Fleet Street.**

'I've got to hand it to you Nigel, you're quite right. There's nobody about and even Starbucks is shut!'

Sydney and Nigel had walked into the city from their hotel in Bloomsbury, avoiding the crowds in the West End and the clusters of tourists around St Paul's. It was a lovely, bright, clear autumn morning, but the historic City of London was empty.

'I used to come here by myself on a Saturday, when I still lived in London,' confessed Nigel. 'It was wonderful: admiring the Wren churches, the pockets of roman ruins, and the timber framed mediaeval houses that survived the fire of 1666 and the Blitz. Quietness and history: paradise!'

Sydney laughed. 'Did you do everything by yourself, Nigel?'

'Of course not,' he retorted quickly. 'I'm a sociable enough guy, aren't I? Anyway, believe it or not, it was Preston who first brought down here on a Saturday. I was too young to come by myself. It was a kind of birthday outing. It would have been a wonderful treat….'

Nigel trailed off.

'Let me guess: did you argue?'

Nigel cringed. 'I have no recollection what it was about now… but I do remember Preston threatening to throw me off the gallery at the top of St Pauls! On my birthday…ah, he was always so wonderfully brotherly.'

Sydney raised her eyes. 'Christ, you two! You've got so much in common, why can't you just get over it? _Whatever_ it is that bugs you both. I admit, Preston can be obnoxious, but you should count yourself lucky to have a brother. Mom and Dad were great, but I always wanted a sibling when I was growing up.'

'You wouldn't have wanted Preston. You said it yourself: he's obnoxious!'

'There must have been good times, Nigel,' coaxed Sydney.

'A few,' he muttered, staring down at his the boots as they trampled over the cobbles.

They had now turned off the main thoroughfare, and were making their way up Manchester Street, which led to Dean Court and the address they were heading for. They were about to turn into Dean Court, when Nigel placed a deterring hand on Sydney's arm.

'We shouldn't go up there.'

'Why?' asked Sydney, uncharacteristically jumping at her assistant's sudden move. She wondered if it was Nigel's odd behaviour, or something else, which had just made her heart miss a beat.

'I don't know…just a feeling. I don't remember coming here before on my walks around the city; the buildings are early Victorian tenements, they wouldn't really interest me so much. But still it seems strangely… '

'…familiar.' Sydney finished his sentence.

'Déjà vu,' she said under her breath. 'Like in the cave.'

She turned to Nigel.

'You're right. My gut's telling me something's 'off,' as well. I don't know what - maybe somebody is waiting to jump out on us? You stay here while I see if everything is clear.'

'Right,' said Nigel. 'I'll keep watch, and check nobody's been following.'

Sydney pulled a knife from her leather boot, and rounded the corner into Dean Court. Nobody was there. Some of the high Victorian tenements had been replaced by modern buildingsm, and she hoped the address they were heading for was one of those which survived the war.

She took several cautious step up the silent street, and was about to call Nigel, when a large Mercedes screamed around the bend at opposite end of the street. Six large, sharp-suited men ran out of the basement of one of the older tenement buildings.

'Oh crap,' thought Sydney, and wheeled around, ready to run back towards her assistant.

Nigel saw a car tear past him, and cried out:

'Syd…watch out!' Then he felt a thudding pain in the back of his head, and everything went black.

A second after Syd heard the call, the second Mercedes screeched towards her, braking sharply and blocking her way. Three further men piled out.

'Run, Nigel…go!' shouted Syd, unable to see this was already impossible. She raised her knife, ready to give as good as she got. She was desperately outnumbered.

A large, sandy-blond haired man with a rugged, weather-worn face, emerged up the steps from a basement tenement. He clapped his hands slowly.

'Fabrice Deviega,' spat Sydney. 'I should have known.'

'This is interesting, isn't it Miss Fox? I have you followed through London to lead me to the Diamond Ruby, and instead you walked straight to my London offices. Tell me why?'

'Damn,' thought Syd, glancing at the number and realising that Deviega had just appeared from the very address they were heading for. 'These are his _offices_? This is just too weird…'

'You have offices, Deviega?' she snarled out loud. 'The only place you should be operating your business from is jail!'

'Ah…yes. But I'm afraid it's _you_ who's going to be a little detained. Until you find me the ruby, that is… now would you step inside, Miss Fox?'

Deviega graciously gestured that Sydney should make her way down the steps.

'I'm sure it would be quite a party, Deviega, but I think I'll pass!'

Syd swerved into a soaring kick that laid the henchman to her right flat on his back on the cobbles. As she brandished her blade threateningly, however, she was stopped in her flow by the ominous click of a gun barrel. In the corner of her eye, she could see the weapon pointed straight at her head.

'I'm afraid your martial prowess is far too well known for me not to take certain precautions. Let's not make this any harder than it needs to be, eh, Sydney?

Sydney snarled, but relinquished her knife to one of the suited men and started towards the steps.

Deviega looked at the three henchmen who were standing by their menacing-looking Mercedes. 'Did you get Bailey?'

'Yup,' answered one. 'Molly got him. He's out cold.' Sydney's heart sank: Nigel hadn't got away.

'Bring him in then, you fool!' said Deviega.

Two of the men went to retrieve Nigel from where he lay on the pavement. Before they could lay hands on him, however, a helmeted policeman rounded the corner of Manchester Street from the main thoroughfare.

He saw the men, a ginger-haired woman, the car, and a prone body. He knew there was trouble: 'Hold it there!' He barked into his radio for backup, and sprinted up the street.

The men, and Molly Gages, panicked at the consequences of giving away Deviega's hiding place and of being caught red-handed at the scene of a crime. They piled into the car and sped off

The policeman thundered up as they vanished into the next street. 'I need an ambulance. I've got an unconscious man – Caucasian, late 20's, well-dressed - corner of Dean Court and Manchester Street. The attackers headed off in an 04 registration Mercedes.'

He knelt down and checked Nigel's pulse and breathing. His vitals were fine but, slumped on his side as he was, the policemen could see blood matted in his hair. He shifted the supposed mugging victim into the recovery position, and rummaged into his rucksack, looking for identity.

'It's strange the robbers never grabbed the bag,' pondered the policeman, wondering if this had been an attempted kidnapping. He pulled out Nigel's dark red British passport.

'Ah,' thought the policemen, as he heard the siren of the approaching ambulance. 'At least we're not going to have difficulty placing you.'

He opened the passport and read the details: 'Nigel Bailey, aged 28. Damn. Your address is in the U.S? Tricky. Oh no, here we are: next of kin - Preston Bailey, address: ooh, Hampstead. Posh postcode! Maybe I should send you straight to the private hospital, eh lad?'

…………………………..

_**1875: 'The Cathedral Close Club' .**_

_Anger swelled in Sydney's breast as she stepped through the door of the basement club._

'_How dare he invite me here,' she seethed. She had expected a den of vice, but this was the lowest of the low. De Veleye knew she was the daughter of a potentially lucrative contact, but he obviously also considered he to be something else: he thought she was like him. This notion thrust her temper to boiling point. But she was aware she had to master it._

_It wasn't the sort of place where one could afford lose control._

_Nigel drank in the sights and sounds with wide eyes. In the confined, smoky room were at least two dozen people. The men, some in expensive suits, some in the uniforms of sailors in port, others in little more than rags, were draped across settees and chaises-longues. Several were deeply asleep, while others had eyelids hovering half closed. They snored, hiccupped or moaned softly: the collective effect was pathetically haunting. The women, adorned with gaudy makeup, unkempt ringlets, faded lace ruffles and feathers, lay and hovered around. Most were as drowsy and desolate as the men._

_On one side, painted directly on a white, wooden-panelled wall was a crude representation of an exotic, Eastern landscape. Brightly coloured birds, scantily clad beauties and strangely shaped trees, intersected with English rolling hills. Sydney sneered derisively: the artist had obviously never left Britain and knew only of the so-called 'Orient' from Imperial fantasies and prejudice._

'_My God, Sydney,' hissed Nigel. 'Real opium eaters?'_

'_They sure are, Nigel,' whispered Sydney. 'I pity them, poor fools. We'd better keep on our guard, though. Some people in here might not be so dead to the world.'_

_She lifted aside some shabby, scarlet hangings that ran right down one side of the room. As expected, behind them was another, more exclusive space._

'_Miss Carraway. My dear friend! I've been expecting you!'_

'_Damn,' thought Sydney. 'I hoped you'd be comatose by now.'_

_De Veleye showed he was capable of rising from his settee to greet her, despite the brandy glass in one hand and the long, scooped pipe in the other._

'_I'm not your dear friend,' spat Sydney. 'How dare you invite me to somewhere like this? I'm hardly going to recommend you to my father now, am I?'_

_Her nemesis laughed. 'Now come and sit down by me, and we can find out just what we can offer each other.' He glanced disdainfully at Nigel, hovering uncertainly at Sydney's shoulder and, seeing his state of undress, chuckled again._

'_Does your young friend usually enter respectable institutions without any shoes on?'_

_Sydney's glare could have blasted through granite. 'That was the fault of your welcoming party, De Veleye. But don't worry…it'll be a pound of flesh I'll be taking back from you.'_

_De Veleye took a long puff on his pipe, and lay back on his couch, revelling in the musky air. 'I never asked anybody to take his clothes, my dear. I merely sent you a warning shot – beautiful women like you should not take risks in the London fog. I wanted you in good condition… for business.'_

'_You wanted me shaken, De Veleye. It didn't work.' Sydney turned to Nigel. 'I'm going to speak to him alone, see if I can get anything out of him,' she whispered. 'I'm not holding out hope for success. Our best bet is still to wait until they are all asleep - it won't be long at this rate.'_

'_Good plan,' returned Nigel. 'What shall I do?'_

'_Go and wait in the other room,' said Sydney, not wishing Nigel to witness any more unpleasantness between her and De Veleye. 'Don't talk to anyone. Don't touch anything. Keep your eyes open.' _

_Nigel slipped back through the curtains as Sydney went to work on De Veleye. _

_Once back in the main court of the opium den, Nigel realised that the turgid atmosphere was making him incredibly warm and sleepy. He was grateful that he had no jacket to encumber him, and undid his high-buttoned collar and necktie._

_He was just wondering if flopping down on a vacant settee would fit into his remit of 'doing nothing,' when he felt a tepid hand encircle his wrist._

_He turned to meet a pair of glassy, green eyes, freckled and finely lined skin, and a cascading mass of ginger ringlets._

'_My, you are a sweet little thing.' The voice was husky, the brogue was Irish._

'_I beg your pardon, Madam?' Nigel was unsure how to respond to such a greeting. He offered a handshake._

'_Nigel Finchley. Very pleased to meet you, I'm sure.'_

_Nigel squeaked in alarm as the woman pressed the back of his hand to moist, voluptuous lips._

'_Goodness, that's rather singular!'_

_The woman laughed. 'You're rather singular, my pretty.' The tone was mocking, and Nigel felt very uneasy._

'_Wouldn't the young gentleman like to sit down?'_

'_The young gentleman would very much like to sit down,' thought Nigel. He couldn't conceive that even tropical heat could be more intoxicating than the air in that room._

'_Yes please.'_

_She led him, still clutching his hand, to an empty settee. Nigel perched awkwardly on the edge, wondering if he ought to go and find Sydney._

_His indecision was short-lived. In an instant, the woman had pinned him into a reclining position and was undoing the buttons of his waistcoat with practiced skill._

'_Oh my goodness!' yelped Nigel, as his eyes clamped down upon her heaving bosoms. 'I'd rather leave that on for now, if you wouldn't mind.'_

_The woman cackled, and started undoing his undershirt. Nigel tried to stop her, but she slapped his hand away and waggled a finger before returning to her work._

'_You never even told me your name,' asked Nigel meekly, calming himself with deep breaths and hoping that a change of subject might leave him in possession of at least some clothes._

'_I'm Molly,' said the girl with a broad, painted grin. 'If you're a good boy, I might just be able to help you… and the fine lady.'_

_She leaned in close, so her rouged lips were on the verge of brushing against his. 'I know where your ruby is, my pretty.'_

'_You do?' gasped Nigel._

_The grin returned. 'I do. What's it worth?'_

'_The ruby? I'm terribly sorry, but I haven't got a clue what its worth in monetary terms. It means a great deal to my friend, though.'_

'_She's a rich woman, isn't she?'_

'_I suppose she is,' panted Nigel, inconclusively._

_Molly had finished her work on 'loosening' Nigel's clothing, and now handed him a large bottle of gin. Flustered by his breathless discomfort and state of dishabille, he downed a large gulp. He flinched as it kicked like a donkey._

_Combined with torpid aromas of the opium, the effects of the alcohol swiftly counteracted his tension. He didn't protest as Molly's hands wandered around the back of his trousers and inside his now open shirt. On the contrary, he smiled and thought her springy, ginger curls rather magnificent. He wondered if it would be acceptable to touch them._

'_Now where does the young gentleman keep his valuables,' thought Molly, predatorily. If she was lucky, she could get away with robbery and selling her information…_

_On its journey towards his waistcoat pocket, her hand rested momentarily on Nigel's chest, incidentally absorbing the rhythm of his heart. She started. The impetuous beat was unusual, yet familiar. Her cold eyes betrayed a flicker of tenderness. _

_She pulled shut his shirt, and trailed a finger from the top of his brow, which was beaded with sweat, down the side of his cheek._

'_You remind me of somebody.' Her voice was querulous. 'Somebody I loved… somebody who cared for me…somebody I lost.'_

'_I'm sorry,' mumbled Nigel, taking another swig of the gin._

'_So am I, my sweet,' replied the prostitute, her head turned away as she choked back unbidden tears. 'So am I…'_

_Nigel wondered what was wrong. He hadn't a clue what one said to a 'lady of the night' in these circumstances. He was relieved when Molly twisted back towards him. Her smile was now benign: stealing was far from her mind. He started to address her, but she 'shushed' him with a finger to his lips. _

'_Just you keep quiet and relax, Nigel Finchley,' she drawled. 'Now…if you can promise me that your fine lady will pay well, I'll tell you where the Ruby is hidden.'_

……………………………

_Back on the other side of the curtain, Sydney had placed herself down on De Veleye's settee at a respectable distance from the large, sprawling male._

_De Veleye instantly moved towards her, and offered a brandy and a pipe, both of which she refused._

'_Indulge me, Sydney,' he drawled. 'Indulge yourself! You and I are so alike…in our business and our pleasure. We are both interested in making your father more money…and in acquiring the world's most beautiful relics.'_

_Sydney was repulsed. 'You and I are nothing alike. I love my father, but his business is his own. And I retrieve relics because I am fascinated by the past and to redress a balance: these days, I've found that the most ancient and priceless artifacts are falling into the unworthy hands of rich, white men - like you, De Veleye. And I will get that ruby back.'_

'_Ah, Sydney…that's my girl. I just love that fire in your eyes. Surely we share one thing: passion!' He edged closer, sneering rakishly as he lifted a meaty paw towards her shimmering locks._

'_Ugh!' Sydney pushed him away and rose from her seat. De Veleye waved his hand at her dismissively – fortunately, the alcohol and narcotics were starting to overcome him. It was time to get busy and start snooping around this place. There had to be several adjoining basement rooms. She had a hunch he was taunting her by hiding the relic right under her nose._

_Sydney rose, straightened her hair and clothing, and went to seek Nigel and the ruby._

……………………

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	5. Part four: Discoveries

Disclaimers: as ever.

Thank you for the nice reviews.

Warning: Major angst!

**21st century: Queen Anne University Hospital, London.**

The doctor on casualty duty was hurrying up the corridor, clipboard in hand, when a tall, blonde-haired man approached him. Dressed in a smart, green sports jacket and a pair of tartan plus-fours, the newcomers business seemed equally urgent.

The man's words were almost garbled. 'Excuse me, doctor. My name is Preston Bailey. I believe my brother, Nigel, was brought here this morning. The nurse on reception said something about a head injury. He is all right? He will be okay, won't he?'

The doctor smiled reassuringly.

'Your brother will be quite alright, Mr Bailey. I've just got the x-rays back, and the worst he will be suffering from is mild concussion. Nigel is in otherwise in very fine fettle.'

'Oh, thank goodness.'

Preston clicked his tongue disapprovingly and all signs of worry vanished.

'I didn't even know he was in London, you know? Then I get this emergency call out of the blue! I was just eating my breakfast and I had a _very _important round of golf organised.'

The doctor frowned. 'Does your 'important round of golf' mean you are not going to be able take Mr Bailey – junior, I presume - home with you? I was hoping he could check out later in the day, if he had someone to keep an eye on him. If not, I'm afraid he'll probably spend the night on a hospital trolley. We're extremely short of beds, you know?'

'Oh, he doesn't need _me_. Surely there was a someone with him, a Sydney Fox? You couldn't miss her!' Preston winked knowingly. 'Damned attractive woman.'

'Ah,' said the doctor. 'Yes, I believe your brother, was trying to tell me something about her. Nigel was involved in a suspected kidnapping. He was found, alone, near Fleet Street, quite unconscious. The policeman who found him saw a Mercedes and several passengers tearing away from the scene, but saw and heard nothing else. It was only when your brother 'came to' that there was an inkling that there might have been a second victim. The police are currently trying to track the Mercedes. Unfortunately, Nigel could give no definite information about where his friend had gone to, or whether her disappearance is connected.'

Preston rolled his eyes. 'It's never simple, with Nigel, is it? There's always muggings and forgeries and kidnappings and heaven knows what else!'

'Maybe you should be discussing this with your brother, not me.' He motioned towards a curtained off cubicle at the far end of the corridor. Preston glared at it, and started over.

'Go easy on him, Mr Bailey,' the doctor called after him. 'He's still a little groggy, and, as far as anybody can tell, your brother was the victim rather than the perpetrator of the crime.'

'Yes, yes,' said Preston dismissively, and strode off to find out exactly why his pressing golf appointment had been ruined.

………………………………

_**1875: The Cathedral Close Club.**_

_Sydney pushed the curtains aside and peered across the smoke-filled room. She spotted Nigel instantly. He was slumped on a couch looking very sleepy, but apparently alone and unmolested._

_And she started over, Molly appeared from a shady corner and blocked the way. _

'_I know where it is,' she husked. 'The pretty thing… you're looking for.'_

'_You know where the ruby is?'_

'_Yes, miss. And I've told your young man. Now will you pay me for this information? I'm taking a risk, you know, but I need the money.'_

_Sydney reached into her purse and bought out five gold sovereigns. Molly gasped, never expecting so much for her trouble. Sydney pressed two of them into her hand. Then she went over to Nigel on the couch._

'_Nigel!' she hissed, patting him on the cheek to revive him. 'Do you know where the Ruby is?'_

'_Wha...oh, Miss Carra…Sydney, um, yes.' _

_Nigel seemed nearly as dazed as the opium eaters, and she hoped it was just the fumes, rather than any form of experimentation on his part._

_She went back to Molly, and handed her the three other sovereigns. _

'_Thank ye, miss,' beamed Molly. The girl's grin lessened slightly when she caught a glimpse of Nigel._

'_Another thing, miss. Don't be chasing around looking for anything tonight. You should take that boy home.' She leaned in close, her voice deadly serious. 'Miss, I'm going to be good to you and not just because you've paid me well. I like your young man…err, Nigel, is it?'_

'_Yes. What's your point?' said Sydney impatiently._

'_Well, miss, I had a lover once - someone who'd have taken care of me - and I lost him. I suppose we could never have afforded to do anything about it, but if I could have read the signs, maybe it would have been different… ' _

_Molly broke off as Sydney heard the swish of the curtain behind her. De Veleye was lethargically groping his way towards them. She turned to ask Molly if they could finish their conversation later, but the girl had vanished._

_Sydney was primed to ward off more unwanted advances, but De Veleye blundered past her, his eyes unseeing._

'_Wonderful,' thought Sydney, the thrill of the hunt swelling up inside her, overwhelming all other considerations. 'Nigel knows where the relic is and our main opponent is hallucinating!' _

_She went over to the couch, and hauled Nigel to his feet. He gawped vacantly at her._

'_So, Nigel, are you going to tell me where it is? _

'_It's a stone's throw from here,' he mumbled. 'In one of London's greatest wonders!'_

'_What do you mean? Don't tell me I've just paid five sovereigns for a riddle?'_

_'Ah… but it's obvious, isn't it?' slurred Nigel._

'_Is it? London's greatest wonder? It could be one of many things. The tower of London? St Paul's? They're both nearby…'_

'_But not a stone's throw away…' _

'_Of course! The sewers: London's greatest - and newest – wonder! My father himself said that the designer, Joseph Bazalgette, is greatest engineer of our age. Anything that can make this city smell slightly better has got to be a wonder of the world! De Veleye must have a secret safe that can be accessed through the new sewers.'_

_Standing had perked Nigel up a little, and he was nearly as excited as Sydney was. 'What do we do next?'_

'_Find a way in,' suggested Sydney. 'There might be a tunnel from somewhere in this club.'_

'_Or we could try the entrance shafts from the street?'_

_Sydney could see the sense in this. Even with De Veleye in a stupor, action would be easier outside of his lair._

'_Good idea,' she affirmed. 'Let's go!'_

………………………

_As they hurried up the steps to the street, the bite of the chill night air reminded her that Nigel was bereft of all his outer clothing. She also remembered Molly's strange words. _

'_Nigel,' she asked over her shoulder, 'maybe you should go home. I'll walk you as far as The Strand. There is bound to be a cab outside one of the clubs.'_

_Nigel hesitated. He was shattered and, after the unnatural warmth of the 'Cathedral Close', he felt the cold acutely. On the other hand, he was driven by an irrepressible desire to find an ancient relic with this woman he so admired._

'_If I go back, will you still go after the jewel tonight? Alone?'_

'_Yes,' replied Sydney, half apologetically. Once she'd sniffed a find, there was no way she could leave things alone till tomorrow. _

'_Then I'm coming too. I'm supposed to be your chaperone, remember? I couldn't disobey my brother, now, could I?'_

_Sydney smiled, reading his irony. 'Alright. I'm glad you want to stay.' This was the truth. She had never trusted a partner before, but she instinctively trusted Nigel._

_It was very quiet in the street. The smog had cleared a little, and the gaslights now penetrated further into the low hanging mist. Sydney easily found the nearest metal grill. Nigel joined her, and helped to lever it open. _

'_One of the main channels of the new sewers must run up the street,' she observed._

_A small metal ladder led downwards into absolute darkness. Nigel almost regretted he hadn't taken the opportunity to go home. It wasn't just chilly, black and damp down there; it didn't smell too great either!_

_Sydney reached into her purse and brought out a tinderbox, and a thick stub of candle in a small holder._

_'I'm always prepared for crawling down dark passages,' said Sydney, matter-of-factly. She started down the ladder, and Nigel followed, glad that the gloom concealed the distance of the drop._

_When Sydney's feet hit a stone floor, she held out the light to reveal that she was perching on a narrow ledge above a fast flowing waterway. Sydney realised this must a tributary of the notoriously murky River Fleet, buried for good by the new sewerage systems. The tunnel was shiny and new, with plush red brickwork, elaborately bonded. It was still a sewer, though: Sydney lifted a gloved hand to cover her mouth and nose and lessen the stench. Reaching the bottom, Nigel retrieved a handkerchief and did the same. They both felt rather nauseous._

'_Come on, let's get this over with as quickly as possible,' said Sydney. She sidled up the walkway, searching with her light for some sort of compartment or subsidiary passage. After they had gone about fifteen yards, she spotted a dark opening on the opposite side of the flowing water. _

'_There,' she pointed. 'That tunnel must lead back into the direction of the club. That's where the jewel is, I'm sure of it.'_

_Nigel peered dubiously at her over his handkerchief. His voice was muffled: 'Yes, but how are we going to get over there?'_

_Sydney surveyed the channel. It was only just over a yard wide. 'We jump.'_

'_Jump! Over there? I couldn't. I'll fall in.'_

'_You won't. It's a matter of faith, Nigel. If you believe you'll reach the other side, you will!'_

'_I don't believe I'll reach the other side,' said Nigel._

'_Well, you'd better wait here, then,' said Sydney. With that, she backed against the wall, bent her knees, and took a flying leap forward. She landed, with only a minor stumble, in the opening of the tunnel._

'_Coming, Nigel?' she asked, holding her hand back across the channel. 'There is only one light, you know?_

_Nigel was quite aware of this. 'I suppose my feet are damp enough already,' he grumbled. He said a silent prayer and flung himself in the direction of Sydney, who grabbed his hand as he fell slightly short of his target. Nigel landed on his front. His upper half was in the tunnel, but his legs were dangling, up to his knees, in the fast flowing water. _

'_Ooomph!' _

_Sydney dragged him into the tunnel quickly. 'See, you made it! Sort of.'_

'_Yes, sort of.' _

_Nigel pulled himself to his feet and Sydney began forging her way down the tunnel. _

_'If the smell wasn't quite so awful,' __said Nigel, 'this would be just like Finchley Hall. There's a secret tunnel that starts in the vaulted undercroft, which winds down under the moat and then rises in the woods beyond. I used to play there, pretending I was escaping from deadly danger and saving the day, like the hero of Sir Walter Scott's story, 'The Fortunes of Nigel'. My father named me after that book…it's amazing that it had a secret tunnel in it too!'_

'_How exciting,' smiled Sydney. 'Finchley Hall must have been a wonderful place to grow up.' _

'_It was. Don't tell Preston about the tunnel, though. Father showed it to me alone, and promised it could be my secret. I suppose he felt guilty, that the estate, and everything, would eventually go to the elder brother… '_

_Nigel trailed off as the tunnel ahead of them opened into a larger chamber. As the candlelight filtered into the space, Sydney took a sharp intake of breath._

_Suspended on a platform in the middle of the room, and sparkling in the illuminations, was the Diamond Ruby. _

_It was impossible to reach. _

_De Veleye's wide travels had acquainted him with the talents of the trap-builders of the ancient, and modern, worlds. In front of her was a lever that released the stone. However, it was also quite obvious that the same lever could also unleash all sort of blades and flying missiles from the maze-like contraption that held it, instantly killing someone who manipulated the controls in the wrong way. No wonder Molly had not made a bid for the ruby herself!_

_Even more excruciating, for Sydney, was the clue engraved on the brass lever._

'_Gutta cavat lapidem, non vi sed saepe cadendo'_

_It was in Latin. Although her father had taught her well, when he had time, he had never been enthusiastic about classical languages, and consequently had passed little knowledge of it on to his daughter. If only she'd had the opportunity to go to school and university! Sydney felt as if De Veleye was taunting her with his superior schooling and masculinity._

_So absorbed was she in the dilemma, that she had all but forgotten Nigel before she sensed his presence at her shoulder._

'_The quote is by the Roman poet, Ovid. It means: The drop excavates the stone, not with force but by falling often.' _

'_You're brilliant, Nigel!' she exclaimed. "Not only can you translate it, you know where it comes from!'_

_Nigel shrugged. 'Every schoolboy knows it. It means something to do with endurance and learning, if my memory serves.'_

'_Well, it's served us both well on this occasion. We make a great team, you know?_

'_Thank you,' replied Nigel. 'But how is it going to help us get the ruby? I assume that's it?' He pointed to the entrapped jewel. 'It's beautiful.'_

'_It sure is,' said Sydney. She turned her mind to the riddle. 'Hmmmm. The drop excavates the stone, not with force but by falling often. I think it's telling us something about the force that needs to be applied to the lever that releases the ruby. It mustn't be pushed with great force… what falls often and lightly?'_

'_I think the word 'drop' in the poem refers to droplets of water,' replied Nigel, dredging his mind for the learning of his unhappy school days. 'Water can erode even the strongest stone, not by brute strength, but by dripping again and again. It's like the long process of learning.'_

'_Water, yes! That makes sense. You must drip water on the lever to release the ruby!'_

'_But we don't have anything to pour it from. I suppose you could wring out the legs of my trousers!'_

'_No. We wouldn't be able to control the flow enough.' Sydney began unbuttoning her leather ankle-boot. 'Good job one of us has some footwear left, eh Nigel?'_

_She hurried back along the tunnel, and returned with a small amount of dirty water in the bottom of her boot. As Nigel held the candle, she carefully poured a single drop onto the lever. Nothing. She dropped another, then another, then another._

_There was a shudder, and the mechanism that held the ruby in place slowly began to grind. Sydney took an instinctive step back, sheltering Nigel behind her. _

_None of the traps fired. The platform that held the ruby tipped, and the relic trundled slowly down the chute, straight into Sydney's waiting hand._

_Sydney held the ruby to the light and delight shone in both their eyes. 'Yes, we make a great team!' marvelled Sydney. 'Maybe I should take you on all my travels, Nigel?'_

_There was no time to contemplate this proposition. They both jumped at the sound of voices, coming up the tunnel from the main water channel._

'_De Veleye!' panicked Nigel._

_Sydney held a hushing finger to her lips and listened. _

''_ere, there's a light coming from a passage on the other side, 'enry.'_

'_Wot, you waiting for, Bob? Let's see if they've got anything worth nicking.'_

'_It's not De Veleye,' whispered Sydney. 'It's just a couple more of those Cockney opportunists. They must have noticed the open grate in the street.'_

'_What do we do? Are you going to, umm, kick them?'_

_Sydney glanced across the chamber. She could see that the tunnel carried on the other side._

'_No. If we squeeze along the side of the trap mechanism, we can follow that tunnel. I'll bet it leads back to the club. I'd rather take my chances with opium eaters in the light, than a couple of thugs in the dark. '_

'_Good plan.' _

_They edged along the side of the room, as voices and footsteps loomed ever closer. As they reached the safety of the far edge, Sydney hurled her now soggy boot over the elaborate trap, aiming straight at the control lever. Missiles flew out of the walls and, more importantly, an iron door creaked shut. It completely blocked the opposite entrance. _

'_Sydney. You're amazing!' _

'_Years of practice,' shrugged Sydney. 'And natural talent! No way back now, though…'_

_They ploughed onwards up the tunnel. Sure enough, they soon smelt the distinctive, redolent odour of the opium. Their way was ultimately blocked by a wooden panelled door, which Sydney forced open by a single shove with her shoulder._

_They emerged, through a section of the badly painted eastern landscape, back into the body-filled main-room of the club._

_A well-dressed gentleman looked up from his couch._

_He took one look at Sydney and Nigel who had, in his mind, just jumped out of the painting, and his jaw dropped. They did indeed look a sight: even Sydney was now wearing only one buttoned boot, her once neat clothes dishevelled. Nigel, was shoeless, jacketless and rather wet. _

'_Sweet Jesus,' moaned the lethargic gentleman. 'Have you been wading across the paddy fields of China?'_

_He words stirred some of the eaters around him. Sydney realised they had to move._

'_I'm afraid not, De Quincy,' she quipped. 'I don't recommend you spend the night here, though. This place has got a real damp problem.' _

_She grabbed Nigel by the hand and they dashed through the club and up into the street, their footsteps pounding to the rhythm of their own excited laughter._

_Once outside, Sydney kept running. She was exhilarated by her find and by the impressive weight of the ruby in her purse. _

_'That's one back from the rich, white, Imperial men,' she cried with satisfaction. 'Now I'm going to take the Diamond Ruby back to where it belongs.' She could have run and danced all night._

_She was a little annoyed when she felt Nigel's hand, still enfolded in hers, tug her back. _

'_What is it?'_

'_Please,' puffed Nigel. 'Could you slow down…please…'_

'_I've got only one boot on too, now Nigel. The cobbles aren't so bad are they…?'_

_She broke off, as she remembered her previous concerns for her new friend. 'Alright. I suppose there's nobody chasing us.' She glanced back down the street, through the now clearing mist, and confirmed this was true._

_She linked her arm through his, and they walked on at a moderate pace. When Nigel got his breath back, he asked her: _

'_So, what are you going to do now? Take the ruby back to India?'_

'_Yes,' said Sydney. 'I'll sail as soon as I can.'_

_Nigel sighed. 'I wonder if I'll ever see you again.' _

_Sydney felt a pang. She didn't like the notion that their acquaintance would be brief._

'_Oh, I'm sure you will, Nigel. We can write. And I'll come back to London again soon, I promise.'_

'_I expect I'll be in India by then,' lamented Nigel. 'I suppose maybe I could see you there, but it's such a big place I doubt our paths would cross. I can't even imagine how large it is. Its hundreds of times the size of England, and Oxford is furthest from home - from Finchley - I've ever been.'_

'_Finchley is in Kent, right?'_

'_Yes. You'd adore it, Sydney. It's got more than just secret passages! Finchley Hall is a half-timbered manor-house, set in a deep and lovely vale amidst the rolling hills near Canterbury. There are orchards, and hop-gardens, and little rivers…Best of all, father collected a wonderful library.' _

'_Then you must promise to take me there some day soon, Nigel. Preston can't force you to join the army. There must be other professions open to you…' She decided to share an idea she'd been toying with all day. _

_'What if I paid for you to go back to Oxford? It wouldn't just be a gift – I could train you to be an even better assistant to me. You could help me with my books, and accompany me on my travels.'_

'_It's a lovely offer, Sydney, and I'm very grateful. Sadly, I have family tradition and honour to think of. All the second sons join the army. My uncle was a military man, as was my great-uncle before him.'_

'_Where is your uncle now?'_

'_He died in the Crimea. He didn't quite make it on to the battlefield. I believe he was carried off by influenza…'_

'_And your great-uncle?'_

'_He was felled by a bullet to the chest during the Battle of Waterloo. The family hold him in the highest esteem.'_

_Sydney was disgusted. 'Why should you be forced to follow a family's tradition of sending its younger sons to their deaths? You can uphold the honour of your name in other ways, you know?'_

'_But Preston would never forgive me. He'd cut me off without a penny. Then I could never go home again.' Sydney sensed the seething resentment._

'_Why don't you talk to him, Nigel? I know your brother can be… obstinate, shall we say, and he's not the most perceptive man in the world, but I've the feeling that you've not been all that diplomatic, either.'_

'_There is no arguing with Sir Preston,' bemoaned Nigel._

_They had now reached The Strand, where they gratefully clambered into the back of a hanson cab. _

_They were both very quiet on the way home. Sydney assumed Nigel was tired, and decided not to remind him of his problems any further that night. She instead resolved that she would have some sharp words with Preston before she left London. She always trusted her intuition, and it informed her very no uncertain terms that Nigel was not the soldiering type!_

_By the time they trundled into Grosvenor Square, Sydney guessed that her companion was asleep. He was curled away from her, with his arms huddled tight around him: for warmth, she assumed. _

'_Nigel, we're back.' She touched his shoulder softly. 'Nigel?'_

_Under her hand, she could feel him trembling quite violently. She could sense he was wide awake, but he didn't respond._

_Sydney hastily got up and leaned over him. Nigel's face was creased and flushed pink, his breathing was ragged and he was evidently in a great deal of pain._

'_Wake the house! Call a doctor!' she shouted to the cab driver, who tipped his cap casually and climbed down from his seat._

_The fear in Nigel's eyes wrenched her very soul. 'Syd...Sydney…it's worse…' _

'_What's worse?' she wondered apprehensively._

_Sydney brushed his hair back from his forehead, in a futile attempt to comfort him. 'Everything will be just fine, Nigel.' The words rang weak and hollow. 'I'll get Preston...' _

_The cabman had rung politely on the bell to no immediate effect. Sydney ran up and thumped on the door as if she was trying to bash it down. _

'_Preston! Preston!'_

_Her holler was enough to wake the whole square._

_Preston has been in the library taking a nightcap. He had initially ignored the bell, expecting a servant to arise from bed to answer it. His surprise at hearing Sydney's distinctively accented voice, coming from the street, led him to take the audacious step of opening the door himself._

'_Preston. Send for a doctor. Nigel's ill.' _

_Preston regarded her, open mouthed, not registering her words. _

'_Where on earth have you been, Miss Carraway?' He looked down to see Nigel standing on the pavement behind her, looking somewhat bedraggled. 'My God! Nigel! What a state you're in! What happened to your clothes? Oh hell, don't tell me you've lost them. You know the, err, problem with the tailor's bill.'_

'_Nigel?'_

_Sydney spun around to see Nigel was indeed standing at the bottom of the steps. _

'_The boy looks alright to me,' mumbled the disgruntled coachman._

'_Why are you just standing there, Podge?' asked Preston._

'_He's unwell,' said Sydney, rushing back down as Nigel stumbled, grabbing onto the railings. Sydney steadied him, as Preston approached for a better look._

'_Nigel, if you're drunk I'll…oh God…'_

_Nigel clamped a hand against his chest. 'Preston…I…'_

'_Oh God,' repeated Preston, only just summoning the wherewithal to catch his brother as he collapsed forward into his arms. The nightmare that the baronet had suppressed for ten years suddenly became an undeniable reality. _

'_It's happening again,' murmured Preston._

_Sydney gasped. 'You know what's wrong?'_

_The baronet's blue eyes looked deep into hers, riddled with guilt and anxiety._

'_Please,' he whispered, holding Nigel tightly. 'Somebody call a doctor.'_

…………………………………

**21st century: Queen Anne University Hospital, London.**

Preston sauntered in to the hospital cubical and raised his eyes to heaven.

'For goodness sake, Nigel, what the bloody hell have you been up to now?'

Nigel, lying on the hospital trolley with his head bandaged, sincerely wished he was unconscious again.

'Oh Christ!' he retaliated. 'Who the bloody hell called you?'

'That's the thanks I get, is it?' whined Preston. 'I was due to play a round of golf with Martin Gleig this morning. Martin Gleig! He's the director of collections at the Royal Academy Museum. I'd been buttering him up for weeks to get that one game, and everyone knows he gives the best appointments to his golf partners. I was even going to let him win!'

'Oh, that's your _golfing_ gear, is it?' interrupted Nigel, surveying Preston's tartan breaches. 'I thought you'd joined the circus!'

'Don't be rude, Nigel. It's a very exclusive club, and you have to dress correctly. This could have been a new start after all the 'misfortunes' at my current job at the British Museum. Instead I had the embarrassment of cancelling, only to get here and find out that you're perfectly all right!'

'Well, I apologise for not breathing my last, Preston. If it's any consolation, I can't say I feel _all _that marvellous. My heads killing me! And Sydney… I'm sure she's been kidnapped.'

'By who this time?'

'If you're not going to take things seriously, you might as well just go.' Nigel winced and lifted a hand to his throbbing head. 'I could do with some peace to work out what I'm going to have to do.'

'Bad luck, old chap,' said Preston, relenting slightly on seeing Nigel's discomfort. 'You're not going anywhere without me, because the doctor won't let you check out alone. Besides, seeing as I've already paid the ruddy congestion charge and driven all this way, I might as will relieve you from an unpleasantly noisy night spent in a hospital corridor, eh?'

Nigel gazed at Preston ponderously, absorbing the information.

'Fine. Then you can drive me to a police station. These people aren't taking Sydney's disappearance seriously enough. She wouldn't just leave me, Preston. She must have been in trouble. I haven't even had a chance to call Karen yet… can you find out what they did with my stuff? I need my phone… and my laptop…and… maybe I should contact Cate… or Derek… '

'Okay, Nigel. Calm down. I'll go and talk to the doctors and nurses and see what I can do…'

Preston rushed over as Nigel started to make an effort to get out of bed, and pushed him gently back against the pillows. 'Stay! I'll sort it all out. Trust me!'

Nigel wanted to say something about not trusting Preston to tie up his own shoelaces, but attempting to get up so soon had made him feel dizzy and sick.

'Okay, Preston,' he said weakly, hating having to rely on him. ' Be quick… Sydney's life could depend on it.'

'Bloody hell, I hope not,' thought Preston, but he swaggered confidently from the cubicle nevertheless.

………………………………………….

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	6. Part five: Revelations

**Disclaimers: Don't own Relic Hunter characters. Dr Lydgate (not that he's in this much) was created by the incomparable George Eliot.**

**Thanks for the reviews…and Happy Christmas to you all! (not that my stories convey that much Christmas cheer - bah humbug!!)**

_**1875: Finchley Residence, Grosvenor Square**_

_Sydney closed the bedroom door softly behind her, leaving Nigel in the charge of the doctor. She intended to freshen up quickly, and return as soon as she could._

_In her preoccupied state, she was startled to see Preston standing rigidly on the landing, staring at a portrait that hung at the top of the staircase._

_It was not difficult, in the circumstances, to see why he was so absorbed. The picture, which Sydney had observed before, was a family group, gathered in front of a mediaeval manor house. To one side, stood a tall, curly blonde-haired nobleman, his hand rested upon the shoulder of his pride and joy, his eldest son. The heir, aged about ten, was clad in the same, fashionable hunting gear as his father, and stood with his chin high and proud. The boy was obviously Preston. _

_The father's eyes, however, drifted with fondness towards the little group gathered on the other side of the portrait. A beautiful, delicate woman, with flowing chocolate-coloured hair - his beloved wife – sat on a tree-stump, gathering her two, precious younger children about her. A dumpy, dour little boy - quite evidently Nigel - clung to her hand. It was a touching gesture that defied the serious pout on his intense little face. Upon the mother's knees was a tiny, fragile blonde girl. _

_Sydney was about to ask Preston to speak to the doctor, who had refused to share what he regarded as 'scientific' details with a woman, when the baronet began to speak._

'_Our little sister's name was Amelia,' he replied, in answer to a question never asked. 'Amelia was mother's name as well. They died at the same time, a few years after this picture was painted.'_

'_I'm sorry,' said Sydney, and rested a comforting hand on his arm. 'Preston, will you please speak to the doctor. He just won't tell me what's wrong.'_

_Preston groaned. 'Doctors never tell you anything certain about Nigel. But I suppose they always arrive too late.'_

_Sydney narrowed her eyes. 'Preston, you know what's wrong, don't you?'_

'_Miss Carraway, I don't know, really I don't…' _

_Preston glanced up at the portrait again, catching sight of the benign countenance of his mother. He ran his fingers across his brow in exasperation. 'I suppose I have an idea. My mother and sister died of fever… and soon after, Nigel became ill too. We would have lost him as well, if there hadn't been a wonderful doctor in the village, Lydgate. There was little he could do for the ladies, but Nigel was stronger. The doctor was able to save him. But…'_

'_But what, Preston?'_

'_The strain of the illness might have…damaged his heart…'_

_Sydney's suspicion boiled into anger. 'You knew this, Preston. Yet you were still going to force Nigel to join the army!'_

'_That isn't fair! We never knew for sure, Sydney. Even at the time, Lydgate said there was a chance he would recover completely. Besides, Nigel rallied. He was never boisterous, or into riding and hunting like the rest of us, but I just put that down to, well, obstinacy! I felt that father coddled him.'_

'_Who can blame him!' retorted Sydney._

'_Nigel was quite well!' protested Preston. 'After father died, I had no choice but to send him away to school. It was the right thing to do! After a couple of years, he became ill again, and they sent him home. After that, if I asked him what was wrong, all I ever got was surly silence. He was keen enough to go to Oxford, though! How was I supposed to know anything was amiss?'_

_Sydney's rejoinder was cut short when the doctor appeared at the door._

'_Sir Preston, may I have a word?'_

'_You may speak in front of Miss Carraway, doctor. She is a close family friend and a highly educated lady.'_

_Sydney had already made her way back into the bedroom, not liking the idea that Nigel should be left alone. The men followed, to find that she had already resumed her vigil at his side._

_Sydney gladly noted that Nigel's breathing was much calmer than earlier, and that he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. In the flickering gaslight, he bore a hitherto unseen resemblance to the pretty, long-lost mother in the portrait on the stairs. He seemed desperately fragile._

'_This isn't right,' whispered Sydney. 'You are so young, so fine and handsome, and so spirited…'_

_A little voice in her head added: 'You should be with me, Nigel, out in the world, discovering how wonderful life can be.' She didn't articulate it._

_Feeling compulsively maternal, Sydney fastened the top button of his nightshirt, which the doctor had carelessly left open after using his stethoscope, and pulled up the covers._

_The two men were now standing directly behind her._

'_Your brother is very ill, Sir Preston' stated the doctor. _

_Sydney rolled her eyes. 'The man's a genius!' she thought sarcastically._

'_I've detected some irregularities with his heartbeat. It's too early to tell if it's going to be an ongoing problem. I would prescribe a months rest in the country. After that, Sir Preston, if all goes well, we'll make a soldier out of your brother yet!'_

_Sydney peeped over her shoulder to see Preston nodding sincerely and with feigned surprise. It was evident he wasn't going to tell the medical man anything of Nigel's history._

'_For heaven's sake, Preston' interjected Sydney in hushed fury. 'Why don't you tell him that this has been going on for ten years, and you've been too damned blind – or uncaring - to admit it!'_

'_Mr Finchley has a history of this sort of trouble?' inquired the doctor, who never trusted the word of a woman, particularly an emotional one._

_Preston sighed. 'Yes.'_

'_Ah. That makes a difference. I'm not sure an army career would be the best thing for your brother under those circumstances, Sir Preston.'_

_Preston did not even hear the 'expert'. His answer came in response to Sydney's piercing, accusing glare:_

'_Of course I'm not going to send Nigel to India now, Sydney! I may be a…a…fool, but I'm not completely heartless!' Overcome by this rare bout of sincerity, the baronet swiftly departed from the room. If he'd dallied any longer, Sir Preston would have been forced to reveal emotions that he perceived to be very unmanly._

…………………………………….

**21st century: Queen Anne University Hospital, London.**

It took several hours for Nigel and Preston to extract themselves from the hospital. Preston retrieved his brother's belongings, only to be reminded by a nurse that no calls for a mobile phone could be made in the building. He had then had to placate the doctor, who had been annoyed to find that Nigel had removed himself from his bed, prematurely and without permission, in pursuit of a payphone.

Frantic calls had been made to Karen, and then to Nigel's various contacts. None had heard from Sydney. By early afternoon, the hospital staff decided they would rather see the back of the problematic Bailey brothers and graciously showed them the door.

'Well, that was immensely embarrassing, wasn't it?' complained Preston as he pulled his new Volvo S60 Turbo - in his eyes, the coolest set of wheels since James Bond's Aston Martin - out of the parking space. 'You _did_ make a fuss, didn't you? Knowing your Professor Fox, she probably ran into an old flame, and has been enjoying a romantic luncheon for two somewhere. Having met a couple of the bad sorts that _she_ runs about with, I wouldn't be surprised if the fellow clobbered you, just so he could have the lovely lady all to himself!'

Nigel glared. 'I don't think so, Preston. She's in trouble. I know it. Now, could please just drop me to the police station? Then you can go.'

'Fine by me,' said Preston, and edged out into the nearest traffic queue.

At that instant, Nigel's phone rang.

'I bet that's Sydney now,' said Preston, in his well practised 'I told you so' voice. 'No doubt she's tired of her old lover, socked him on the jaw, and wants her little lapdog back.'

Nigel ignored him and, in his haste to retrieve the phone, spilt the entire contents of his bag onto the Volvo's internal leatherwork.

'Hello? Syd? Is that you?'

Pressed rolled his eyes, and swept the offending possessions off his dashboard and into his brother's lap.

On the other end of the line was, indeed, Sydney. Tied to a chair, with the phone held to her mouth by her captor, she shouted: 'Nigel, don't listen to him! I'm getting out of here just as soon as I've seen this murderer sprawled in the dust.'

Then Deviega greeted him.

The sudden aggression in Nigel's voice nearly led Preston to shunt his beloved vehicle into the red, double-decker bus in front.

'Let her go, you bastard! If you've hurt her… '

'Shut up, Bailey,' sneered Deviega. 'What are you going to do? Throw a book at me? I'm the one laying down the rules today, boy. And you're going to do what I say, or she dies now, and you die very soon.'

'I'm listening,' muttered Nigel, acutely aware that Sydney had said not to.

'First up, any squealing to the police and you'll be digging your own grave. You've got 24 hours to find out where the Diamond Ruby is. Your Professor and I will take it from there.'

…………………….

Deviega hung up the phone without any further ceremony, and smiled down at his unwilling guest. Sydney's stare of hatred could have melted all that was left of the polar ice caps.

'It didn't have to be this way, Miss Fox,' cooed Deviega with mock sympathy. 'We were going to wait until you found the ruby and just take it off you. But you walked straight to my London HQ. I had to take action, now, didn't I?'

'My heart bleeds for you, Deviega,' snarled Sydney. 'Now why do you just let me go? I'll find the Ruby, put it in the museum, and, hey, lucky you! _You_ don't get to die…yet. Because, I swear, Deviega, if I have to put up with your company a moment longer, I'm going to do to you what you did to my mentor all those years ago.'

Deviega, who had assumed a relaxed pose, with his hands in his pockets, chuckled. 'Even _you _might have difficulty with that little mission while you're tied to a chair, Sydney.'

She laughed sinisterly. 'You said it yourself, Deviega… _I'm the best_.'

Deviega's face flushed red as he struggled to master his anger and passion. 'Keep control, man,' he told himself.

'How did you know about my offices, Sydney?'

Sydney considered a minute. It was another in a long line of apparent coincidences that Deviega occupied the very rooms which had once been in the possession of De Veleye, and in which she had hoped to find clues to the whereabouts of the jewel. What's more, the tenement, like the street outside, gave her that strange ambience of déjà vu…

She knew she had to be on her guard, but Sydney had a hunch that letting on just a _little _information might just work in her favour.

'I didn't know these were your offices, Deviega. If I knew where you were hiding, I'd have had every authority this side of the Atlantic, and a few from the other, on your ass. _We_ were looking for clues about the Diamond Ruby... So, I'm asking _you_, Deviega. Why did you take these offices?'

Deviega narrowed his eyes. It was an unsettling question, although he could not quite put his finger upon why. As was necessary in his 'profession,' he changed his location nearly as often as he changed his clothes, and he had not even located these particular, basement apartments himself. However, he liked them. They had a familiar, tranquillising air about them that he didn't seek, but he couldn't help warming to. He'd hung around here longer than he ought to have done. He knew that now.

Then there was the Diamond Ruby. He felt a vengeful compulsion to seek this particular relic that he usually only experienced with those that slipped through his fingers. It seemed like unfinished business, although he'd never sought it before… but maybe that was just his unfinished business with Sydney Fox.

Sydney smiled coldly as she detected an element of confusion in her enemy's eyes.

'Been here before, Deviega? Or, should I say, De Veleye!'

Deviega's increasingly scarlet face contorted. 'Why do you use that name, woman?'

Sydney was gratified by her success, and continued to turn the screw: 'why do you want the Diamond Ruby so badly? There are plenty of more valuable relics out there. It's just a little stone en route to the museum in Calcutta…'

This was more than Deviega could handle. 'One more word, and you die today!'

He fled from the room in an incomprehensible fluster.

'Maybe you picked the wrong girl…' called Sydney, defiantly. 'De Veleye!'

She heard the lock click and the footsteps hurry away.

'Woh!' exclaimed Sydney, as her success washed over her. 'That name really meant something to him… ' The revelation was nearly as discomforting to her as it had been to Deviega. If she, or another version of herself, had been embroiled with these events in the past, the thought that Deviega had also been involved filled her with dread for what she might uncover.

'Focus, Sydney...'

The next thing to do was to capitalise on Deviega's disorientation and look for a way to get out of there. She had a hunch that these rooms contained secrets. She hoped they were on her side.

…………………………………

'Deviega!' Nigel cried out in anguish and kicked his foot up against the dashboard as the line went dead.

'Hey, mind my car! What the hell is it?' demanded Preston, his startled eyes darting between the traffic and his brother.

'Shut up, Preston. I need to think… no, pull over. We can't go to the police station now.'

Preston's usual retaliation was quashed by the severity of Nigel's countenance. He knew that Sydney Fox had got his brother mixed up into some serious things in the past. He guessed that this was another such occasion.

He quietly pulled the car up a side street. 'What's happened now?'

'Sydney's been kidnapped – Preston, don't look at me like that - I've been speaking to the kidnapper! He's the biggest, nastiest bastard out of the whole bad lot I've met over the past few years. Believe me, he's homicidal.'

Preston reached for the ignition keys. 'We're going straight to the police.'

'No. We can't do that! He could kill her, Preston. He says I've got to give him what he wants.'

'What does he want?'

Nigel scrutinised his brother closely. Preston looked dead scared, but also incriminatingly curious. He knew his brother could never be trusted: Preston had exploited both he and Sydney in the past to find precious, and potentially career enhancing, relics that he could never lay his hands on alone.

Nigel's failure to answer only enhanced Preston's interest. 'Does he want a relic?'

'Of course he does,' snapped Nigel. 'Or, at least, he wants me to find out where it is… but, of course, Sydney told me not to listen to him.'

'We should go to the police then!'

'No!'

Preston raised his arms in bewilderment, as Nigel thrust his head forward into his hands and ran through his options. He had to do _something_. However, he hadn't a clue how to rescue Sydney – besides, when it came to that side of the business, she was rather better at rescuing herself. That just left the Diamond Ruby.

They had no leads on Sydney Carraway, and going after De Veleye had just led them to Deviega. There was still Sir Preston Finchley.

'The Finchley family papers would be kept at their country estate, not at the townhouse…' murmured Nigel.

'What?'

Nigel sat up quickly, wincing at the rush of light-headedness brought on by his concussion. After a second, he took a deep breath and made an executive decision.

'Have you heard of Finchley Hall?'

'The name sounds familiar…' Preston pondered as a flash of recognition melted into ambiguity. 'It's not one I've visited… I'm pretty sure it's in Kent, though.'

'Yes, it's near Canterbury. It's not open to the public but I need you to drive me there now.'

'Now? It will take at least an hour and a half to get down that way. Do we have an appointment?'

'No. But I need to look at the family papers. Sydney's life could depend on it.'

Preston's wide-eyed horror returned. 'Are you going to tell me what this is all about?'

Nigel picked up a UK roadmap from the back seat and began flicking through the pages.

'Put your foot on it, Preston. I'll fill you in on the way.' Nevertheless, he thought to himself: 'I'm not telling you everything yet, Preston…I still don't trust you any further than I could throw you…'

Preston started the engine and watched in admiration as the array of coloured lights on the dashboard lit up in satisfying numbers. He didn't, however, notice that an extra, tiny red light was flickering at him from the corner of the car roof. It was a tracing device, put there just half an hour before by a woman with bright red hair.

……………… ……..

_**1875: Finchley Residence, Grosvenor Square**_

_Sir Preston Finchley gazed out at the steely, cheerless dawn as it broke across the mouldering, autumn gardens of Grosvenor Square. It brought him no ray of sunlight, and no glimmer of hope._

'_Preston?'_

_The word was a pale whisper, but the baronet turned as if it were a clap of thunder._

'_Nigel…'_

_Present broke off as his brother pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes settled upon the still form of his vigilant nurse. Sydney, despite her best intentions, was asleep, peacefully draped in the high-backed chair she had drawn close to his bedside. She was still dressed in her walking clothes from the night before, but her hair was now decorously tumbling from its once neatly pinned-up styling._

_Even the monochrome morning light couldn't fail to ignite her inner radiance. The brothers shared the sight, and a smile._

_Preston hurried to Nigel's side and tentatively took his hand. Nigel flinched at the unexpected touch. He thought morosely: 'If Preston's being kind to me, I can't be long for this world.'_

'_Are…are you feeling better? You… concerned me.'_

'_Sorry,' said Nigel. 'I do feel better than last night. Are you angry about the clothes?'_

'_Oh…no, no,' he glanced across at Sydney, who was still lost in her dreams, and lowered his tone even more. 'What on earth happened last night? Where did you two go? Miss Carraway wouldn't tell me.'_

_Nigel considered. If Sydney hadn't told Preston about last night, then he felt he shouldn't take the liberty of doing so, either. He trusted Sydney - she must have had her reasons. _

'_I can't tell you, Preston. I'm sorry.'_

_Preston frowned and relinquished his brother's hand. 'What do you mean you can't tell me? I am your brother. Last night is going to… cost me a lot of money. It's not just the clothes, now, is it? I'm going to have a hefty doctor's bill as well. I'm not blaming you, Nigel, but I have a right to know what happened!'_

'_I felt a pain in my chest…and rather unwell …'_

'_That was blatantly obvious, Nigel. I had to carry you up from the bloody pavement – nearly breaking my back - before the neighbours saw you making a scene! What I want to know is, where had you been?'_

'_He'd been accompanying me on a business trip, as you asked him to, Preston Finchley.' Sydney, wide-awake, rose to her feet. Such was the fire in her eyes that Nigel thought she was going to slug his brother on the nose._

'_I would appreciate it if you'd direct questions about my business to me. Any real gentleman knows that it's impolite to speak about a lady's affairs, even to his own brother!'_

'_I'm terribly sorry,' stammered Preston as Sydney's glare intensified. 'I was just concerned, that's all. I'll just go and…umm, speak to the servants about breakfast.'_

_Preston scuttled from the room, as Sydney's glowering transformed into her most benevolent smile. _

_'Nigel. How are you feeling?'_

'_Better,' said Nigel, as she took his hand. Each found consolation in the other's sweet, gentle touch._

'_I'm sorry,' said Sydney. 'I wish you'd told me that you were ill.'_

_Nigel scrunched up his nose in a manner she found rather appealing. 'Don't be sorry. I'm not ill, I just get these 'turns' sometimes…it's never normally as bad as last night. That was frightening.' He sighed. 'Maybe it all got just a little too exciting! I find if I just plod on as usual, studying and reading my books, I'm quite well.' _

_Sydney quietly wondered if the possible after-effects of Nigel's childhood illness had been kept from him. _

_'Did you ever tell Preston about it?' _

'_Good God, no! He thinks that all ailments are down to a lack of 'manly vigour' and having no interest in hunting with hounds! The yap of the dogs and the thrill of the chase will, apparently, prevent any illness… oh, as will soldiering. Not that he's ever tried that for himself…'_

'_Well, you're not going to either,' said Sydney brightly, plumping up Nigel's pillows as he sat up in bed. 'Maybe, in the long term, last night was a blessing in disguise. It forced Preston to face some home truths. He's going down to Whitehall this morning to sell on your commission.'_

'_Really?' asked Nigel dubiously. _

'_Yes,' confirmed Sydney. 'He promised. And, as soon as you're strong enough, we're going down to Kent. Prescribing a month in the country was the most sensible thing that useless doctor said.'_

'_We? I thought you were bound for India. ' _

'_India can wait. I'll write to Meena this morning. I'll tell her the good news about her jewel, and promise to return it to her early next year. You whetted my appetite to see more of 'old England' last night, Nigel. I'd like to start with Finchley Hall. It sounds fascinating.'_

_Nigel beamed, and Sydney saw colour returning to his complexion. 'I'd like nothing more than to show you it all. Let's go now!'_

'_Hold your horses!' laughed Sydney. 'I think we should wait a day or two before taking the journey. Besides, Preston has his business and I have mine. I have to think how to keep the ruby safe.' She patted the material atop of the cleft between her breasts. 'Right now, I'm keeping it close.'_

_Nigel nodded approvingly. 'I'm sure it will be safe down there.'_

_A maidservant came to the door and placed the tray on the bed. She then handed Sydney an envelope and a small, sword-shaped opener. 'This came for you, ma'am.'_

'_Thank you, Julia,' said Sydney. The handwriting was unfamiliar._

_Nigel politely dismissed the maid. He proved quite capable of pouring out the tea himself, so Sydney turned her attention to her letter._

'_What's wrong?' asked Nigel, reading the worry suddenly etched on Sydney's brow._

_She placed the letter down slowly. 'It's my father. He's ill.'_

'_Oh…I'm so sorry…' The ramification of this news hit him like a dead weight. 'Must you leave now?' _

_Sydney's heart tore in two. 'He's got no other family, Nigel. The letter is from a nurse called Jennifer - I don't even know who she is! I can't bear the thought of him being alone if he's sick… but I don't want to leave you either.' _

_Nigel's placed down his teacup on the tray and lightly stroked her sleeve. 'You must go, Sydney. You know you must. I'll be quite all right and, for what he's worth, I've got Preston. Just promise me you'll come back.'_

_She seized his hand. 'I will, I promise. I'll return as soon as I can. And you must promise to show me Finchley Hall then.'_

'_Of course! I want nothing more.' His grin returned. 'You'll love it. It's so much more beautiful in the spring! Will you go to India first? '_

_Sydney pondered, and her free hand drifted to the stone that she had tucked in her corset. Despite her faith in her abilities, she couldn't risk keeping it on her._

'_No,' she said finally, unable to face the thought of the journey to America and then to India without seeing for herself that Nigel was well again. 'I'll come back to England and then travel on. Maybe I'll hide the ruby somewhere in London…'_

_Nigel leaned forward confidentially. 'There is a safe in the attic. I know where the key is. Preston never uses it, because he has nothing to put it. It would be quite secure.'_

_He saw Sydney hesitate. 'Please leave it with me, Sydney. I'll keep it safe… I'll take it down to Finchley with me. If De Veleye starts searching, he will assume you've taken it to America with you. Besides,' he glanced downwards, embarrassed, 'if I have the Diamond Ruby, I know you'll come back.'_

'_I'll come back anyway, Nigel.'_

'_Please trust me, Sydney.'_

_Sydney reached into her blouse for the ruby. Nigel held out his hand, and she placed the jewel in it, wrapping both her hands around his. _

'_I trust you, Nigel.' _

_She prayed she was doing the right thing. Her emotions were so tangled that even her instincts seemed untrustworthy. She wanted to do this. It was as if she was leaving a little bit of her soul in his possession._

_Nigel tucked the ruby under his pillow and reached for a slice of toast. Sydney sipped from a teacup, all the while drinking in the cherished sight of her new friend. Her affection for him reached way beyond his boyishly pleasing appearance. Indeed, it was becoming hard to believe both that he was so young, and that she'd only known him since the day before yesterday. _

_It felt like they had been companions for years. _

'_Oh, Nigel,' she sighed, exerting her not inconsiderable willpower against a growing sense of foreboding. 'I'll be back before you know it. Everything will be just fine.'_

………………………………

**Thanks for reading. Please review. Go on – considerer it a Xmas present for a poor, deluded writer!!**


	7. Part six: Departures

**Disclaimers: as before.**

_**1875: Finchley Residence, Grosvenor Square**_

_Sydney had to leave that afternoon to catch the boat train to Southampton. Her last few hours with Nigel slipped away, all too swiftly, as she at his bedside and they shared passions for ancient legends, long lost civilisations and mythical hidden treasures. _

_She couldn't leave without reiterating her promise to pay for Nigel's return to Oxford._

_Nigel refused it quietly. 'What if I could never repay you? It just wouldn't be right.'_

_'It would be the only right thing in this ridiculous world we live in!' retorted Sydney, with the authoritative air of a kindly schoolmistress. 'I'm asking you to do this as a favour to me. I can never go to university, but you can absorb all the learning in the world for the two of us. I need a good assistant if I'm going to write books the world will take seriously. Then, when you're well again, we can travel and research together.'_

_'You're just being kind. People will soon take your books seriously, anyway. You don't need a university education to be a brilliant scholar.'_

_'Maybe not. But I learnt last night that you can help me. And I want you to return to Oxford to show the world what a brilliant historian you are. It will be wonderful - think of all those peaceful, quiet libraries!' Her sincerity melted into a warm smile. 'Then I'll turn up from time to time, and make lots of trouble and noise… not as much last night, though, I promise!'_

_Nigel's smile radiantly matched hers. 'It sounds like heaven.' _

_She handed over £500 in fresh banknotes, and vowed to send more soon. Nigel hesitated for a moment, and then tucked the money under his pillow with the Ruby, accepting it with guilty jubilance. _

_They heard the hooves and rolling wheels of a horse and cab clatter to a halt outside. Their happiness was obliterated by a sharp knock on the door._

_'I've got to go now,' said Sydney, although she didn't yet move. 'Take care of yourself, and that poor, silly brother of yours. Don't mention the ruby, and keep Oxford quiet until things are looking better for him. I know he won't accept money from me, but I'll get my father to write as soon as he's better and offer some sort of partnership, or shares. That should pull Preston through the worst of things.'_

_'You're just too bloody good to be true, aren't you Sydney Carraway!' grinned Nigel. He added as a subdued undertone: 'I wish you didn't have to go.' _

_'So do I.' _

_She leant forwards and pressed her lips to his, finding herself detained as Nigel pulled her close and held her tightly. A brief farewell became a long, lingering and heartfelt kiss. _

_Sydney looked pleasantly surprised as she was finally released. 'Err...that was unexpected…' _

_Nigel glanced up at her sheepishly. 'I'm terribly sorry. I don't know what came over me.' _

_'Don't apologise… you kiss goodbye beautifully!' _

_'I learnt more than just how to waltz at those balls in Kent, I'm afraid.' Nigel began to fluster. 'I'm sorry… I had no right. I just felt like I was never going to see you again…or kiss a woman I cared for again… and that something terrible was going to happen…' _

_Sydney, still perched on the bed, kissed him again, this time rather more chastely. 'Don't make yourself ill over it. I enjoyed it…besides, what can go wrong now?' She smiled, ambiguously flirtatious. 'When I return, you can take me to one of those dances in Kent...or maybe we could find out if the Oxfordshire ones are just as 'educational!''_

Nigel did not rise to the humour, instead pursing his lips and contemplating her with unremitting intensity.

Sydney finally rose. 'Goodbye Nigel. Look after that ruby.' She turned quickly and left the room, her vision blurred by the moisture that welled up in her eyes.

_'I will,' he called, still perplexed by the kiss. 'I'll put it in the attic safe today. God speed, Miss Carraway!'_

…………………………

**21st Century: Deviega's offices, Dean Court.**

Bound by leather straps to a sturdy chair, which itself was bolted to the floor, Sydney recalled just how useful Nigel was to have tied to ones person in these sorts of situations. Between the two of them, they always seemed to be able to reach a sharp implement or find some sort of loophole - and her assistant was surprisingly handy with his teeth when he had to be! Alone, however hard she wriggled, she couldn't escape.

Thus, Sydney turned to her other senses –eyes, ears and intuition - to get her out of this little mess.

Firstly, she noticed a strange painting on the wooden panelled wall. It was an appalling mishmash of a landscape - it was difficult to tell if it was supposed to be India, China, or, indeed, England. To Sydney, it appeared the sort of scene that would have had adorned the walls of a seedy Victorian opium den.

Encouragingly, she could make out that one of the panels on which it was painted was slightly out of place. It was barely discernible - but Sydney had a hunch it was a hidden door.

She could also hear the pacing footsteps of somebody on guard in the corridor on the side of the main entrance to the room. She knew it wasn't Deviega, which worked in her favour: another man might possess even less resistance to her charms...

Sydney gave a loud, anguished, and feminine wail. Nobody came. She let out a prolonged, theatrical moan.

After second, the lock turned. However, rather than a man for Sydney to flutter her long, willowy eyelashes at, in came Molly Gages, wearing a smart, green mini-skirted suit. Her ginger hair was complemented by gaudy red lipstick.

'What?'

'Uh…I was feeling really unwell. And, you know, I think I need the Ladies. Any chance of untying me?' Sydney smiled innocently.

'No. You're not ill. I know when people are faking.'

The woman began to leave, pulling shut the door.

'Well, it's your prison sentence, then…or maybe your funeral.'

Molly swivelled on her high heels, anger creasing her freckled face: 'Are you threatening me, Sydney Fox?'

'Nah,' snarled Sydney. 'I'm just warning you. Deviega is not the kind of guy you want to be getting mixed up with. If it serves its purpose, he won't hesitate to kill you - loyal henchwoman or not. I should know. He killed my first professor, my mentor…'

'He's not a killer!' hissed Molly. 'He's been good to me. My fiancé, an archaeologist, was killed. I had nobody, and Deviega has taken care of me.'

'How did you boyfriend die?'

'He was shot by corrupt authorities when he was on a dig in Singapore. Deviega try to save him. He told me so!'

'Yeah? I heard a rumour that Deviega opened fire in Singapore on an honest academic who told him to hand over a valuable idol to a local museum. '

Molly's jaw dropped. 'That isn't true!'

'Were _you_ there?'

Molly said nothing.

Sydney continued: 'Look, I don't know if Deviega killed your boyfriend or not. But I _can _tell you for sure he's a really nasty son-of-a-bitch and you'd be best off untying me so we can both get out of here while there's still time.'

'I can't believe you,' said Molly. 'It's too late.' She started for the door again.

'No…wait! At the very least, can you tell me what happened to the guy I was with, Nigel Bailey?'

She had Molly's attention again. 'His name was Nigel,' she muttered thoughtfully.

Sydney was alarmed by the use of the past tense. 'Yeah. And if Deviega has harmed one hair on his head…'

'Don't worry, Miss Fox, he got away. Or rather, he was found by the police.'

Sydney exhaled with relief.

'Is he your boyfriend? He's very good-looking. Trailing a guy that cute made the last few days almost pleasurable. I hope we get the chance to… get to know each other better soon.' Molly's expression became glazed and dreamy. 'Nigel,' she murmured, turning the name over in her mind.

'Newsflash! He's my assistant and I'm kinda sure you're not his type … but there's only one way to find out: join the good guys! Untie me! You're never going to have a chance with Nigel while you're in bed with De Veleye.'

'De Veleye! Why did you say De Veleye? Who is he? I know that name…'

Sydney's slip of the tongue hit her – as did its effect on Molly. She narrowed her eyes.

'De Veleye, like your friend Deviega, was a nasty piece of work – but one that lived over a hundred years ago. He was after the same jewel that Deviega is, and these were his rooms.'

'These rooms?' gasped Molly. She had always hated his place, but was unsure why. Her gaze fixed onto the painting on the wall, and she slipped back into a trance.

'Yeah, these rooms. What were they? Some sort of opium den?'

'Nigel…' stammered Molly. 'He was here…_you_ were here. You were good to me… '

'I was here? Come on, then, untie me. Tell me what you know!'

Molly nodded silently and unwound the straps that fastened Sydney to the chair.

'Thanks,' said Sydney, jumping up. 'Let's get out of here before Deviega gets back.'

'Deviega!' the word snapped Molly straight back to the present. Her lip curled viciously. 'What are you? Some sort of hypnotist?'

'I didn't do anything, honest. _You_ remembered something...' Sydney saw Molly reach for a pocket, and figured she couldn't wait to find out if it was an alarm or a weapon. She feigned to raise her hands in surrender, and then laid the woman out with one, sharp punch.

'Are you a 'tart with a heart', or just a tart?' quipped Sydney, with a dismissive roll of the eyes.

She didn't even bother rummaging for Molly's keys. She knew that there was a better and safer way out than through the front door. She picked up her satchel from where it had been flung in the corner, and retrieved a knife, now visible in a garter below the hem of Molly's mini-skirt. With it, Syd pried opened the panel in the painting.

Sydney was no longer surprised by her intuitive foreknowledge. Now she was _sure _she'd been here before, as had Molly, Nigel and Deviega. Indeed, she wondered just how many other wandering souls had been summoned back together by the hunt for the Diamond Ruby.

……………………….

**1_875: Finchley residence, Grosvenor Square._**

_Matthews answered the sharp knock on the door to discover a shabbily dressed woman in a faded green headscarf, from under which under protruded some unruly ginger curls._

_The butler regarded her haughtily. 'The servants and tradesmen's entrance is downstairs, young woman. You will take your business there.'_

'_I will not!' replied the lady, in a broad Irish accent. 'I've come to see Miss Sydney Carraway, and it's pressing, it is. She'd be angry if you don't let me see her, I know she will.'_

_The butler stuck his nose even higher the air. He had never approved of Sydney, and was unsurprised to find the company she had kept was disreputable. 'I'm afraid Miss Carraway has gone back to America. You would be finding her here in the near future, if ever again.'_

'_I need to see young Mr Finchley, then. He'll talk to me, mister, I know he will. He seemed a nice, kind boy.'_

'_I'm afraid that Mr Finchley is ill. He can't receive any visitors. Now, good day to you!'_

_He was about to slam the door in Molly's face when Sir Preston's carriage drew up outside._

'_Would you please go,' he spat. 'Sir Preston will be very angry that I've let you dally this long!'_

_Before he could stop her, however, Molly was accosting the baronet, tagging on his jacket tails as he stepped down onto the pavement._

'_Good God, what is this?' _

'_I've come to warn you, Sir, about De Veleye. He's coming to see you. I don't know why he's coming, but he mustn't know who's got the ruby. Tell him it's gone to America with the fine lady or there's no telling what he'll do, to you… or your brother! And don't tell him about me…'_

'_Matthews?' demanded Preston to the butler, perplexed. 'What is this madwoman raving on about?'_

'_I afraid I am unable to discern, Sir.'_

'_I'm not mad. It's about Miss Carraway's ruby.'_

'_Ruby? I haven't a clue what you're wittering on about, Madam. I can't believe you were acquainted with Miss Carraway!'_

'_I met her last night, Sir.' _

_Preston's blood boiled. It had been a terrible day. He'd been only been offered back half the money he'd been paid for Nigel's army commission. In the end, he'd left with it unsold, hoping for better luck tomorrow. Now, some common wench was reminding him that the beautiful and wealthy lady he'd hoped to marry had been snooping around the most insalubrious areas of town last night...with his younger brother!_

'_Oh, I see,' he seethed. 'I'm afraid I haven't a notion what that woman was up to yesterday, and now she's gone. I can't help you, madam.'_

_With that, he swept her aside and hurried into the house, relieved as the butler slammed the door behind him._

'_Damn you, you snob! I only came because I felt sorry for the young gentleman… and …I liked him.' _

_Molly's words trailed to nothing, but desperate tears flowed as she shuffled off down the street. She was scared, but she hadn't a clue that she was being watched by the same evil soul that she had wished to ward off from the baronet's household: De Veleye._

………………

_Preston dejectedly flung off his coat and hat as the butler handed him a card. _

_He read it and silently cursed: 'De Veleye.'_

'_It was left by the gentleman, not half an hour back. He said he would return later this afternoon.'_

'_Very good, Matthews,' sighed Preston, handing Matthews the unsold commission. 'Put this in my study, will you?_

_He slunk into the smoking room, and poured out a large whisky. As he took a healthy swig, he chastised himself for his rude words about Sydney, and for his inability to ensnare the lady - and her money. Preston had tried his utmost keep hold of the family fortunes but he'd been played for a fool by just about everybody he'd encountered over the past five years. He was a ruined man, who knew his time was running out._

_His downed the whisky, poured another, and lit a fat, comforting cigar. He then lay back in his favourite chair, fully intending to drown his sorrows._

_His self-pitying repose did not last long. His eyes had hardly lulled shut when he heard a squeal from one of the maidservants, a scuffle in the corridor, and hurried footsteps._

_He went to the door. 'What the hell is going on, Julia?' he demanded._

_'I heard something, sir, in the attic,' whinnied the frightened maidservant. 'It came from the storage area behind my little garret bedroom. '_

'_We fear its burglars, Sir,' said Matthews, even more serious than usual. 'Shall I send out for a policeman, Sir?'_

'_No time for that, man,' barked Preston. 'I've had enough of people stealing from me. I'm going to hold onto everything I've got left, damn it.'_

_He stalked back into the smoking room and emerged with a double-barrelled shotgun. _

'_I'll show them what happens to those who mess with Sir Preston Finchley, Baronet!'_

'_Very good,' mumbled the butler. _

_The servants followed Preston, as he crept up several flights of stairs to the source of the noise._

_Once in the attic corridor, the baronet stopped so sharply that his staff nearly collided into the back of him. Preston, although bolstered by alcohol, was not the bravest of men. He imagined that pointing a gun at a ferocious burglar – or a fearsome garrotter - must be a lot harder than aiming at a pheasant in Finchley Wood._

_All three jumped, and then held their breath, as a definite sound of rustling came from the storage area. _

'_That's him! That's the burglar!' squeaked Julia._

_Preston edged as far as the door and peered through the keyhole. He could see a hovering candle, and a shadowy figure holding it aloft._

_Anger overcame his spinelessness. He kicked the door open and lifted the shotgun._

'_Face me like a man, you nasty, common thief!'_

_The lurking form dropped his candle in fright, dived to the floor and yelled, 'Don't shoot, Preston, it's me!' _

_It was too late. The baronet fired randomly and the shot resounded around the confined space._

'_Oh my God! Nigel!' wailed Preston. _

_He cast off the gun, and plunged forward to where his brother had crumpled. _

'_What are you trying to do?' came a feeble moan. 'Finish me off, completely?'_

'_No…I…I…I thought you were burglar.'_

_Preston cradled his temporarily overcome brother against him, grabbing Nigel's wrist in a vain and uneducated attempt to check his pulse. _

'_I'm not dying,' said Nigel breathlessly. 'It's a good job you're a terrible shot, though.'_

'_What do you mean?' _

'_You're hopeless! Everybody knows that Finchley Wood is stocked with more happy, plump and eternally safe pheasants than any other piece of land in Kent. Did you ever even shoot one? ' Nigel half laughed, half choked._

'_They breed fast, that's all,' muttered Preston. 'Anyway, let's get you back to bed, then maybe you should be telling me what you were doing here.' _

_He relinquished his brother's wrist, unsure if the meaning of the racing beat was good, bad, or negligible. As he did so, a ray of the butler's candlelight caught a glimpse of a largish object, sparkling and reddish, clasped between the curled fingers of Nigel's other hand._

'_What's that?'_

'_What's what?' Nigel extracted himself from his brother's grip and shakily rose to his feet. 'I am quite well now, but I think I need to lie down. I'm going back to my room.'_

'_What have you got in your hand?'_

'_It's just a piece of mother's old jewellery. I came up here to look for it. I wanted to see if we still had it.' _

'_You're lying,' stated Preston, superciliously drawing himself up to his full height. 'All of mother's jewellery is kept in her box at Finchley Hall. Besides, she never had a ruby.' He recalled the redheaded Irishwoman's words and jumped to a few conclusions._

_Nigel grasped the stone tightly. 'Can we talk about this downstairs, please?' He motioned subtly to the servants, indicating this was a secret they should not share._

'_Yes, we most certainly can!' retorted Preston. He took Nigel by the arm and guided him from the attic like a naughty child, while the butler and maidservant stared and whispered._

_Once back downstairs, Preston deposited Nigel on the edge of the bed he had left to take the ruby to the attic. The elder brother folded his arms resolutely._

'_Give me the ruby. I'll put it somewhere safe and then, tomorrow, I will sell it. If it fetches a fine price, it will solve many of our problems. '_

'_It's not mine to give. It's Sydney's… I mean, Miss Carraway's.'_

'_She's gone back to America. I doubt we'll ever see her again.'_

'_We will. She promised me she'd return to see me before travelling to India to give the ruby back to its rightful owners.'_

_Preston laughed scornfully. 'She won't come back, Nigel. Beautiful women make promises that they never keep. Sydney made a few such oaths to me, you know? They all came to nothing.'_

'_I know you're lying. And I also know Sydney meant what she said to me.'_

_'Ha! I understand what Sydney meant. So would you, if you weren't so infatuated and naïve! She left us that jewel to help solve our problems and, no doubt, because she felt sorry for you.'_

'_She didn't. You don't know Sydney like I do. Besides… she left me some money. To pay for me to…to…return to Oxford.' Nigel wished he hadn't let this slip, even as he said it._

'_She did what? How much did she give you?'_

'_Five hundred pounds.'_

_Preston snorted. 'That might almost cover the doctors bills and the capital I lost on your commission. I haven't sold it yet, you know? Nobody would offer me half of what I paid for it!'_

'_Conned as usual, Preston?' Nigel smiled sarcastically. _

_Preston raised his hand to strike his brother, but just about contained himself. He took a deep breath._

'_Nigel, I don't know what that woman's intentions were, but I'm sure she meant well towards you… in a motherly fashion. That being so, she wouldn't want your only brother to be a bankrupt! If we sell the ruby, she would understand.'_

_Nigel shook his head rapidly. 'That wouldn't make it right.'_

_Preston clenched his fist and edged towards the bed. 'Nigel! I'm desperate. Please, give it to me.'_

_Nigel backed towards the headboard. He grasped the jewel so hard that its cool, hard surface vibrated against his warm, sweaty palm and the pounding blood beneath._

'_No.'_

_Preston's eyes bulged, as his mind boggled. 'Nigel! How can you do this to me? I'm your brother…I'll be ruined!' _

'_No,' repeated Nigel, resolutely. 'No.' _

_Preston, barely knowing what he was doing, lunged forward, making a grab for Nigel's clasped hand and the ruby._

_Nigel dodged him, rolling sideways and off the bed. He landed on the floor with a thump. _

'_Ow!'_

'_Hell... I'm so sorry…' Preston, now sprawled across the bed, peered guiltily over the side. 'I won't hurt you,' he pleaded. 'Just…give me the jewel. Surely you can see it makes sense?'_

'_I can't.' Nigel reached for the unlit silver-plated candelabra, which sat on his bedside table, and brandished it threateningly. _'_You're going to have to fight me for it.' _

_Preston looked so utterly destitute that Nigel almost felt sorry for him._

_The deadlock was broken by a knock on the door._

_Preston held out a conciliatory hand to Nigel. The younger brother put down his weapon and, still clutching the jewel, let Preston pull him upright. They both brushed down their ruffled clothes, while Nigel rubbed a bruised arm._

_Preston jumped off the bed, and said 'Come in.' His voice was querulous._

_Matthews entered. 'Mr De Veleye is here to see you, Sir Preston.'_

'_Don't receive him, Preston.' _

'_Nigel, I have to. I owe him more money than anyone.'_

'_Then don't mention the ruby.'_

_Preston nodded, wide eyed. 'I won't.' He addressed the servant: 'Matthews, show our guest to the smoking room.'_

_After the butler left, Preston turned back to his brother. 'This isn't over…but you should get back to bed. You look ill and exhausted. Just…just keep the bloody thing safe.'_

_Nigel gave a brittle laugh. 'That's exactly what I intend to do.'_

………………………….

**21st Century: Deviega's offices, Dean Court.**

As soon as she entered the passage behind the panel, Sydney guessed where she was heading: the sewers! It smelt disgusting.

She reached into her satchel, grateful that she had a torch to shine ahead and prevent her slipping on anything unfortunate, and forged onwards.

Before long she was stopped in her tracks by the strangest of sights. The tunnel opened into a chamber, in which was a wreck of a machine that seemed to once have been some sort of trap. Blades and various sharp edged implements lay around, evidently having been fired when the contraption was set into motion.

Realising it was now little more than scrap metal, Sydney was going to move on, when she spotted that the ongoing tunnel on its far side was blocked by an iron door.

'Damn!' She picked her way over, to see how it could be shifted.

On the other side of the machine, the torchlight revealed a lever, and she discerned that there had once been a slogan beside it. The plaque on which it was engraved was so rusty that it was impossible to read.

As she scrutinised it in vain, Sydney experienced a shivery sensation, which compelled her to step aside into the corner of the room.

From her unsought hiding place, she observed two figures standing by the machine who looked a lot like herself and Nigel. Illuminated by the strange glow of un-sourced candlelight she could tell that they were younger, somehow more innocent, and dressed with a Dickensian quaintness. Nigel, strangely, had no shoes or jacket!

She heard a warm, soft voice, unmistakably her assistant's:_ 'Gutta cavat lapidem, non vi sed saepe cadendo'_

Then they were gone, and Sydney was alone again.

'Okay,' she muttered. 'This is weird… but helpful.' She surprised herself by how quickly she placed the Latin line that the phantom Nigel had spoken. 'It's by Ovid, and it translates as 'The drop excavates the stone, not with force but by falling often.' It's telling us about the force that needs to be applied to the lever: drops of water!'

She rummaged into her satchel and retrieved a bottle of mineral water. She was about to unscrew the top, when a light flashed in her face, dazzling her.

'My God! What is this place? What have you discovered for me, Sydney?'

She knew the hated sound instantly: 'for you, Deviega? Some rusty old blades and a Victorian death-trap. Enjoy!'

She picked up a loose piece of sharp metal, and flung it randomly in what she hoped was the right direction. A sinister laugh confirmed that she had missed.

Sydney frantically searched with her torch, but her enemy was concealed behind the machinery. She heard him scrambling in the dark, and lifting what was no doubt a piece of jagged, slicing steel.

Flailing about for another weapon, she heard a female voice.

'No! You can't use that… it would kill her.'

'Hey, lady!' shouted Sydney, recognising the voice of her ginger haired captor. 'Remember De Veleye? Who was he? Have you guys been here before, huh?'

There was a shocked silence, and the light dipped.

Sydney tried her other tack: 'He killed your fiancé. Just you ask him?'

'Don't listen to her,' rasped Deviega.

Molly dared not even think about her lost love at that moment. 'Who's this De Veleye?' she ventured. 'The name gives me the creeps...'

Sydney reached for the bottled water. 'Yeah, Deviega? Who was De Veleye? Why did the name upset you? Does it remind you of failure? Does it remind you of a lonely, hated looser who got everything he deserved?' She began dropping the water on the mechanism.

'No!' Deviega rose to his feet and flung a piece of metalwork in Sydney's direction that, had it hit her, would have sliced through her like a giant razor. Even as he did so, the machinery gave an agonising, final clunk and she ducked through the opening door behind her.

Sydney ran off into the reeking darkness that is London's crumbling, Victorian and now desperately inadequate sewers, keenly seeking the release of fresh air...and escape.

…………………………

_**1875: Finchley Residence, Grosvenor Square**_

_As he heard Preston's footsteps fade away down the stairs, Nigel went over to his closet. He had been wearing his nightshirt and dressing gown all day, but now he needed a proper set of clothes._

_Only one outfit was hanging there: a full parade uniform for the Queen's Regiment of the 6th Dragoon Guards, complete with company cap and ornamental sword. It was still unpaid for, but had been tailored especially for him._

_He lifted out the weighty uniform with a heavy heart, and dressed. He then placed the Ruby, and £100 of the money that Sydney had given him, in the breast pocket. Taking the other £400, he tucked the notes in an envelope, and addressed it to Preston. He placed it on his dressing table with a briefly scribbled note. Nigel then piled a few little belongings, including a leather-bound copy of his favourite Sir Walter Scott novel, in a black travelling bag, opened the door soundlessly, and crept down the stairs._

_As he sidled up the hall, he could hear De Veleye's resonant voice booming threateningly at his brother:_

'_The ruby is mine! If you're keeping it from me, Preston, I'll call in all your debts. I'll see you bankrupt! I'll see you in jail!'_

_Preston's responding whimper was predictably pathetic: 'I don't know where it is, De Veleye! But I'll do my best to get it to you. I promise…How about some whisky, eh, old chap!'_

'_I'm sorry,' breathed Nigel, 'but I promised Sydney. Goodbye, Preston.'_

_He tiptoed into the office, and located the unsold commission on the top of Preston's disorganised papers. He placed the document into his bag and then slipped out of the front door, silently descending the steps. He started towards a cab that was hovering on the street corner. _

_As he did so, he heard a rustle and what sounded like a human moan, coming from the bushes at the edge of the well-kept gardens that formed the centre of the square. He turned abruptly._

'_Hello? Is anybody there?'_

_No answer was forthcoming. Afraid it was a trap laid by a robber, Nigel hurried onwards. _

_With him, there departed the last ray of hope for the woman lying in the bushes, her red hair now mixing with the scarlet of her spilling blood. When the street sweeper found her the next morning, the gaudy colour engendered a horrific juxtaposition, with her ashen white skin: an unknown, lost soul, dead in the grey morning light._

'_Good evening, my good man!' Nigel addressed the cabman with a ringing, false cheer._

'_Good evening, Lieutenant.' Nigel glanced over his shoulder, wondering who the man was addressing, and then remembered his uniform._

_'Oh, umm, East India Quay, please.'_

'_Very good.' The cabbie glanced at Nigel's diminutive hand luggage. 'Is that it, sir?'_

'_Yes, that's it.' _

_Nigel piled into the back. Already shivering and fatigued, nothing beyond pure determination animated his limbs. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, as the cab jolted and jarred over the cobbles. Nigel Finchley was beginning the greatest journey he would ever know._

……………………………………

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	8. Part seven: New Alliances

Disclaimers: as ever.

Thanks for the reviews!

**21st Century: a motorway to the south of London**

'For crying out loud, Preston! I said we should go the country way! Oh no, you have to take the M25!'

Preston stared ahead of him, into the non-moving traffic jam, revving his engine impatiently as his brother berated him.

'I know you. You wanted show off how you can cruise at 80 mph in your silly new Volvo! I _knew_ this would happen…we've done about…oh, half a mile in the last 8 minutes! '

Preston shot Nigel a deadly glare, which was more than reciprocated.

'Sydney's life could…'

'I know, I know! Sydney's life could depend on it! I'm going as fast as I can, so will you please shut up? I thought you were supposed to have a killer headache.'

'I have,' moaned Nigel, leaning back in his seat and shutting his eyes. He had the map poised on his lap to navigate down the lanes to Finchley, but it was currently useless. They were going nowhere fast.

There was a prolonged silence. After a while, Preston glanced across at Nigel, and wondered if he was asleep. He still had the bandage wrapped round his head, and looked pale and jaded. He was very still.

A panic shot through him: had Nigel lapsed into unconsciousness again? Was he even breathing?

Lifting a hand of the steering wheel, Preston reached across, placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, and shook him.

'Nigel… Nigel…are you all right?'

'Wha…?' Nigel's eyes flew open. 'Bloody hell, Preston…I'm fine. I was just dozing, that's all.'

'Oh, good, good. Just wondered.'

Nigel looked back at him curiously, sighed and picked up the map. 'Are we near the turn off yet?'

'Getting there…sort of.'

They both jumped as Nigel's phone rang. He had answered it by the second ring.

'Hello…? Sydney! Are you all right?'

'Yeah,' replied the feminine, American-accented voice. Sydney was unusually dour. 'I escaped from that creep like I promised. You didn't tell him anything, did you?'

'No… he asked me to find out where the ruby was, but I didn't say where I was going.'

'Where _are_ you going?'

'Finchley Hall. It seems to be the next best place to look.'

'Maybe,' said Sydney, uncommitted. 'I know you find this hard to swallow, but I really believe that we've searched for this relic before…well, not exactly us, but in a previous existence…some sort of former life. I hate to say it, but I think that lowlife Deviega was tangled up in it back then, too. '

'_We_ looked for it in a former life? And Deviega? I don't know, Syd. There could well be another explanation for all the…weirdness.'

Preston, who had been listening intently, sniggered derisively. "Weirdness'? How delightfully American!'

'Shut up Preston!'

'You're with Preston?'

'Yes,' groaned Nigel. 'It's a long story but he's driving me down to Kent. Unless you've got a really solid lead on anything else, I honestly think it's the best place to look next.'

Sydney's serious mood cracked, and she raised her eyebrows in amused anticipation. 'Is your gut telling you something about it, Nigel?'

'Ha ha, very funny.' Even as he dismissed her, Nigel realised that he did have a 'feeling' that Finchley Hall had some important revelations to make. He kept it to himself for now.

'What about Deviega?'

'Well, I've called every authority I can think of, but I'm guessing that rat cleared out before I'd even exited the sewer.'

'Sewer?'

'It's another long story… but he wants this ruby badly. I don't think even he knows what's driving him towards it, which could work in our favour. How can I join you?'

'Umm,' Nigel dredged details of the transport links of southeastern England from the depths of his mind. 'Get a tube from wherever you are to Victoria Station. Get a fast train to Canterbury…they go via Bromley South, I think. We're stuck in a ruddy traffic jam on the M25. At this rate, you will beat us down there, and Preston and I will pick you up from Canterbury East. We'll drive on to Finchley together.'

'Fine. I'll call you when I'm on a train.' Sydney hung up her phone and headed for the nearest underground station, while the brothers continued their labouriously slow journey along the motorway.

……………………………………

_**1875: Finchley Residence, Grosvenor Square**_

_Preston Finchley's early morning repose was broken by an urgent knock at his door. It was a cruel awakening for one whose first thoughts at every recent dawn had been of impending disaster, doom and debt._

'_Come in,' he croaked._

_Matthews came in, his expression grave._

'_What is it?' Preston sat up abruptly. 'Oh God… its Nigel. He's worse again…'_

_He was out of bed by the time Matthews had articulated that he was afraid that 'young Mr. Finchley had gone.'_

_Preston froze. 'Gone? Oh heavens…he's not…dead, is he?'_

'_No Sir, nothing like that. He left the house of his own accord. He left a note for you.'_

'_What? He can't leave...he's ill.' He strode out of the room, muttering loudly: 'if you've done something silly and costly, Nigel, I'm going to kill you.'_

_He entered Nigel's empty room and read the note. He then pocketed the £400 in cash, charged out of the door, down the stairs and was nearly out on the pavement before he realised that he was still wearing his nightshirt._

_He checked himself, and addressed the nonplussed butler. 'Get me a cab, Matthews. I need to go to East India Quay this instant. My brother has decided to go to India, and I have to stop him.'_

'_If you will forgive me for saying, Sir, I believed it was your intention to send your brother away. He was going to join the army, was he not?'_

_Preston scowled, considering the servant rather uppity. 'I changed my mind!' He was about to charge back to his room to dress, when the front door, which he had left partially open, was flung open wide. There stood a stout, bearded and honourable member of the Metropolitan Police._

'_Sir Preston Finchley, baronet?' The voice was Cockney but confident._

'_He's not available this morning!' Preston started to leg it up the stairs, guessing the policeman's early visit could only be something to do with his pressing monetary problems._

'_I'm afraid he's going to have to make himself available. I have a warrant here for his arrest!'_

'_Arrest?' squeaked Preston, stopping in his tracks. _

'_Yes. Mr. Tertius Parker, wine merchant, and Mr. George Jenkins, tailor, hold unpaid bills in your name, together worth over £600. A promise had been made by a Mr…' the policeman glanced down at his notes, 'a Mr De Veleye, to guarantee the bill. Last night, this promise was withdrawn.'_

'_Oh,' said Preston pathetically. He pulled the £400 out of his dressing gown pocket. 'Will this do?'_

_The copper counted the money. He concluded it was 'simply not enough,' but pocketed it anyway. 'If Sir would like to go and dress, I'm afraid I'm still going to have to ask him to accompany me down the police station.'_

'_But I can't!' wailed Preston. 'My brother… I have to stop him doing something very silly.' The policeman looked unmoved, so Preston tried emotional blackmail. 'Please, don't you have family? Children? Nigel's barely more than a child himself… and he's ill. You could be sending my little brother to an untimely death!'_

_The policeman cocked his head to one side, considering the matter. He concluded that the baronet's melodramatic plea was probably entirely fabricated - which, of course, on any other day of Preston Finchley's life, it would have been. _

'_Sorry, Sir Preston. But somebody else is going to have to rescue your 'little brother' today. The law's the law, you know?' The policeman produced some handcuffs and rattled them threateningly. _

_Preston blanched._

_'Now, please go and dress, Sir Preston. Otherwise, I'll be taking you down the police station in your nightshirt, and there's a chill in the air this morning!'_

………………………

_**1875: S.S.Euripides.**_

_The tea clipper, 'Euripides', left the pool of London at just after 9 o'clock in the morning. Preston would have been pushed to reach the docks in time, even if he had not been detained._

_Nigel, who had been lucky to get the last of the few available passenger berths on the merchant vessel, bound for India, had been hiding himself below deck, afraid that Preston would, indeed, come to retrieve him and the ruby. He couldn't let that happen: it would betray her trust. _

_As the boat drifted up the Thames estuary, he lay in his berth alone, hoping that the occupants of the other passenger bunks in the small dormitory would be friendly. Having never been to sea before, he also wondered if he would feel seasick. He hoped not._

_It was not until the wooden sailing ship – old fashioned for its day, not being powered by steam - reached the mouth of the river, that Nigel felt the swell of the waves. He didn't like the sensation, which made him nauseous. Surmising that fresh air would help, he dragged himself up and made his way onto the deck._

_He stood on deck for a couple of hours, leaning over the railings and hoping the unpleasant sensation would pass. As the little boat skirted the edge of the land, he regarded with fondness the green coast of Kent, and eventually stared in awe at the 'haughty brow' of the white cliffs of Dover. The ship then changed tack, heading out into the middle of the English Channel on the start of its long sea voyage. As the famous sight ebbed away into the low hanging clouds, Nigel, who had so far managed to keep an optimistic and interested perspective on events, finally wondered piteously if this was the last he'd ever see of his beloved England. _

_At that moment, he turned and fled the deck. He was uncomfortably aware that a group of older soldiers, also using the boat for passage to India, had been watching him. He had to get away before he betrayed signs of incriminating emotion. _

_As he blundered back along the corridor towards the sleeping area, Nigel's vision became so clouded by tears and general faintness that he barely noticed that the door of the cabin was blocked by another, much more sturdily built, man._

_He only registered the newcomers' presence, when they prodded him firmly on the chest. _

'_Where do you think you're going?' The voice was distinguished by a lyrical Yorkshire accent._

'_This is my berth…please could you let me lie down? I'm not used to the sea yet.'_

_The soldier noticed Nigel's scarlet officer's jacket, and muttered an unrepeatable oath._

'_Oh, you're the toff we're supposed to be shacked up with, are you? I thought we had an officer, but nobody mentioned we had a puppy on board.' The man let Nigel past. He gratefully sunk down upon the bottom bunk, only to be yanked up again by the collar._

'_That's my bunk, little Lord…whatever your name is. You take the top. And here's the rest of the rules: those fools at Whitehall might have told you that professional soldiers – real men - are going to listen to some lily-livered schoolboy, just because you've got a rich papa. They were wrong. I've been in the army for 15 years - since I was less than that age – and, when the bullets and spears start flying, I don't take orders from any rich boy. If you've got any sense, you'll listen to my orders… otherwise you won't last 15 days. You understand?'_

_Nigel nodded blearily. 'May I get in my bunk now, please?'_

_The soldier shoved him violently in that direction. _

_There was a shout from the walkway. 'Captain Lloyd, ya coming for some rum?'_

_Captain Dirk Lloyd's piercing blue eyes gazed witheringly at Nigel, as the younger man clambered falteringly onto the top bunk._

'_Make that fifteen minutes,' he muttered, but an unlikely pang of pity led him to offer what he considered to be words of friendly advice: 'On this ship, there are no commanding officers around to keep the puppies from the fangs of the wolves. Watch your back, boy.'_

'_I'll watch it,' replied Nigel, well-nigh past caring. _

_Captain Lloyd rolled his eyes and strode away._

…………………………

**_1875: Newgate, London. Debtors prison._**

'_Good Morning, Sir Preston!'_

_The sinister cheer of De Veleye's greeting echoed around the nigh empty cell, where Preston was frantically writing letters to Sydney and Nigel. He had hoped in vain for rough weather at the coast and that their respective ships had not sailed._

'_De Veleye!' Preston jumped to his feet. 'Am I pleased to see you, old chap. Look, I'm sorry about the bother with the money but, really, you've got to get me out of here. My brother has just gone and done something very silly.'_

_De Veleye looked interested. 'Your brother? Is that the young chap who had become so, 'friendly', shall we say, with Miss Carraway. What has he done?'_

'_Well…' Preston hesitated, wondering what he dared reveal. 'He's run away to join the army. His ship has probably already left.'_

_De Veleye's complexion grew red with excited realisation. 'He's set sail for India, hasn't he? With the ruby! Your pathetic little brother is doing Miss Carraway's dirty work for her!'_

_Preston sank back down into his chair, and buried his head in his hands. _'_Nigel doesn't have the ruby,' he pleaded, although he knew it was hopeless. __Nobody even believed his lies anymore!_

'_I think he does.' De Veleye grabbed the baronet by his necktie and hauled him up so they were face-to-face. Preston squeaked in alarm, and did not argue the point._

'_Here's the deal, Sir Preston. I pay the wine merchants and tailors bill, and you walk free. Then you will travel to India with me to help retrieve the ruby - and your brother - or I'll call in all your debts and the rest of your will be spent in jail, followed by penniless poverty.'_

_Preston gawped at him, bug-eyed and terrified._

_De Veleye yanked Preston's necktie harder. 'Speak man! Will you do it?'_

'_Yes,' wailed Preston. 'Please don't hit me!'_

'_Good man.' De Veleye relinquished his hold. 'In the meantime, I think we need to put a certain Miss Carraway off the scent. No letters from you…I'll write to her father and offer him the ruby as part of a business deal - that will make the daughter think we've got it back already. Maybe I'll spread a rumour that the deal is half done… put a piece in 'The Times' or something.'_

'_Whatever you say,' mumbled Preston, utterly defeated. 'Can I go home now?'_

……………………………….

**21st Century: Finchley Hall, Kent.**

It was nearly 6 p.m. by the time that Nigel, Sydney and Preston pulled up at the gates of the Finchley estate. It was just starting to get dark.

A high, crumbling, brick wall encircled the house and its surrounding woods and parklands. From the road it appeared that the only way in was through a high, metal gate.

Sydney tried the intercom. There was no answer.

'Nobody's home. We're going to have to find our own way in.'

'You're not going to start breaking and entering again, are you?' worried Preston. 'Don't you remember what happened last time we did this? We nearly got caught!'

'You can stay in the car, then,' said Nigel, who had just removed his bandage. For the 'benefit' of his brother, he was now summoning an air of bravado that he did not always display when alone with Sydney on her adventures.

'Yeah, fine,' said Sydney, also sceptical about Preston's usefulness. '_We're_ climbing over that gate.'

'_Over_ the gate?' Nigel's machismo wavered. 'It's very high, and there aren't many footholds. There must be a hole in the estate wall somewhere. We could squeeze through.'

Sydney regarded him with intrigue. 'You sound pretty confident about that Nigel. Let's have a look.'

She scouted around the edge of the wall in a direction that led away from the road, the brothers following along behind.

'You know, Podge, I think you're probably right that there is a better way in.' Preston ignored his brother's bristling glare at his hated nickname. 'Any self-respecting country gentleman would have made a small section of wall low enough to gallop his favourite horse over. You can't expect those pesky foxes to go through gates, now, can you?'

'You're not into foxhunting are you, Preston?' asked Sydney, glancing over her shoulder disapprovingly.

'No…well, no, not really,' Preston backtracked. 'I was just empathising with what it would be like to live here, and to be a country squire. That would be the life, eh?' He paused and sighed: his happy dream left an unsettling aftermath. 'I suppose you'd have terrible money troubles, keeping up a place like this…'

'Look!'

Sydney pointed at a small hole in the wall, a few metres on ahead.

'I told you so,' grinned Nigel.

Sydney surveyed the gap. 'It's not very big. It would be easy for a child to crawl through… it's going to be a push for three adults.'

'I think we can squeeze through,' said Nigel to Sydney. 'Well, you and I can. I'm not so sure about Preston.' He turned to his brother. 'Bad luck, old chap. You'd better go back to the car.'

'I'm not dirtying my best golfing gear by crawling in the mud like a cub scout, anyway!'

All the same, Preston wasn't about to give his brother satisfaction by deserting the mission. He pointed up the field to where the wall rounded a bend out of sight. 'I'm sure there will be a place to climb over up there. I'll meet you back here on the other side of the wall in five minutes.'

'Okay, bye!' said Nigel over-enthusiastically, and followed Sydney, who had already squeezed through the gap in the wall.

Once on the other side, Sydney insisted that they waited for Preston, who joined them in five minutes. There had, indeed, been a place further up the wall, shallow enough to gallop a horse over, and low enough to climb.

Sydney and Nigel took out flashlights to help guide them through the woods, and she started in what she hoped was the direction of the house.

'No – it's that way!'

Preston and Nigel spoke as one, causing Sydney to swivel and survey them with renewed intrigue. 'How much research did you guys do before you came here? You seem to know a heck of a lot about the layout of the estate.'

'We didn't,' said Nigel, apologetically. 'We spent all morning at the hospital.'

A little smile flickered on Sydney's lips. 'Been here before, boys?'

'No!' They answered in unison again. Preston added: 'I hope you're not trying to embroil me into any of your silly former life theories.' Nevertheless, he _did _have a burning sense of déjà vu…

After a while, the woods cleared and, in the pink autumn sunset, they saw a clear vista of Finchley Hall. It wasn't breathtaking in its size or scale, but it was a truly beautiful sight, nestling on an island in a shimmering moat, beneath the green, rolling hills. With half-timbered overhangs and pointed gothic arches, it was truly ancient, truly English.

Preston and Nigel both stopped dead in their tracks.

'Magnificent!' gasped Preston.

'…and so homely,' breathed Nigel.

'And such a perfect example of medieval architecture,' they said as one, and then glowered at each other. This was getting ridiculous!

Sydney, trying not to giggle, pulled Nigel aside, leaving Preston gazing in awe.

'I thought you like your living spaces 'modern'?'

'I do! But you know more than anybody that I appreciate anything of historical interest.'

'Yes…but why the rapture? Surely you're starting to wonder if there's any sort of connection between your Preston and, you know, Sir Preston Finchley in the past…and maybe between you and this place as well?'

Nigel groaned. 'I've will admit that Finchley has a familiar ambience. But please don't be telling Preston that he is 'to the manor born.' His head is big enough already! Besides, there _might_ be a more rational explanation. There are many such mediaeval manors in England…' His eyes drifted back onto the house ahead of him, glossing over with a misty affection. 'None quite so lovely, though, I have to say…'

'Come on, Nigel,' smiled Sydney.

……………………………

When they reached the house, it was dead quiet, and almost completely dark.

'I did find out that the current owner is American,' said Nigel in hushed tones. 'They don't spend the winter months here. The whole place is shut up.'

'Seems a shame,' reflected Preston. 'This place must be beautiful on a bright, December day, with the silver frost on the trees….'

'…and the open fire blazing in the great hall,' picked up Nigel. 'I can smell the smouldering logs and the spit-roast now!'

Sydney raised her hands for silence: 'Will you two save it for the guide book? Now, try and put all of this 'historical interest' to some use and tell me how we get in.'

'Well, if I was a small boy who lived here…and I needed to slip back in without anyone knowing I'd been out snaffling apples…' started Nigel.

'Just _if_, of course…' added Preston.

'Of course…I would probably try the loose window into the butler's pantry.'

'Good call,' said Preston, barely knowing why.

'And where would the butler's pantry be?' inquired Sydney.

'In the yard around the back…' said Nigel.

'That way,' pointed Preston, increasingly bewildered.

'Lead on, then,' said Sydney, quietly proud that her theories were proving so correct. However, if Preston had been _Sir _Preston, as she was increasingly assuming, which figure in the past had Nigel been connected with? And why, despite sensing his presence in the cave and in the sewers, had he not been mentioned in any of the historical documentation so far?

………………………………..

The butler's pantry window was surprisingly high up for a ground floor room.

'That would have proven difficult for a _very_ little boy to climb up to,' observed Sydney.

'Maybe he had a big brother to help him,' suggested Preston.

'Lucky him!' said Nigel, bitterly. 'That's more than I ever did…'

'That isn't true,' retorted Preston. 'We did some fun things together, didn't we?'

'Did we?'

'Yes. When _you _weren't being so belligerent! I have a vague recollection of helping you climb through a window just like _this_ one…I've no idea where we were, though…'

Sydney reached up and forced the window: the lock had clearly been broken for many years. Nigel hoisted himself up and squeezed through, making a point of shunning any brotherly assistance. He then opened the nearest door from the inside, letting the others in.

'Where to now?' asked Sydney with a grin.

'I don't know,' answered Nigel honestly. 'I'd assume that the new owners have stored away the old family papers, probably in the basement or the attic. I should think this place has a wonderful vaulted undercroft… let's try there first.'

'I'd plump for the attic,' muttered Preston, but no one listened to him.

Sydney lit her torch, and they made their way out of the servant quarters, eventually finding the main, grand staircase.

As the light filled the cavernous space, it illuminated a large family portrait hanging on the staircase.

Nigel grabbed Preston's sleeve and pointed: 'Look!'

'What? It's typical mid-Victorian chocolate box portraiture, I don't think the artist was a notable one…bloody hell – that dumpy little kid is a dead-ringer for you!'

'Not as much as that pompous, toffee-nosed brat resembles you!'

'Bloody hell!' repeated Preston. They were too many photos of the two of them as children, which still adorned Preston's family home, for this to be denied.

Sydney scrutinised the painting closely. The caption read: 'Sir Preston Finchley, 7th baronet, and family.'

'The Sir Preston we need to find out about was the 8th baronet, which means he must have been the elder boy in this picture. The resemblance _is_ uncanny…could you guys be related to them?'

'I don't think so,' said Nigel. Preston shook his head. 'It could just be a coincidence.'

'Yeah? And I'm the Easter Bunny!' Sydney waved her torch onwards.

In the corner of the hall was a low, pointed-arched door that the brothers agreed led down to the undercroft.

They followed down a spiral staircase, so old and narrow, that it was single file only. Syd unbolted a large, iron-enforced wooden door and shone her torch into a dusty, box filled interior. It did, indeed, have a wonderful, vaulted ceiling.

'Amazing!' said Nigel.

'Ow,' said Preston, bumping his head on the sloping roof. 'This place is useless for anybody of a decent height!'

Sydney and Nigel studiously ignored him, and were already scuffling into the boxes.

'What exactly are we looking for, Nigel?' asked Sydney.

'Any sort of correspondence between Sir Preston, and either De Veleye or Miss Carraway.'

'What about the brother in the picture? Maybe he's the key to this.'

Nigel paused, but didn't look up at her. 'Maybe' he whispered.

There were reams of dusty correspondence, papers and pedigrees, which reached back as far as the 14th century. Eventually, however, Sydney shouted: 'I've found something.'

They gathered around, and she shone her torch on the paper. 'It's a bundle of letters from Sydney Carraway!'

She began excitedly thumbing through, as Preston and Nigel peered over her shoulders. The contents were relatively disappointing. All of the letters were dated after 1875, and were friendly, but unrevealing. Miss Carraway related news of her travels, and her father's business, and gave advice to Sir Preston after his marriage to a wealthy city trader's daughter, who bore him no less than seven children. After much fruitless scanning, however, Sydney found the mention of the ruby.

It was in a letter written as late as 1920.

Miss Carraway wrote to her old friend, Sir Preston: _'I returned to India this year, to visit Nigel. The ruby is still safe with him.'_

'Yes!' Sydney jumped up. 'I knew it! Nigel went to India, with the ruby! We have to go back there, and find out what he did with it.'

'But we don't even know who Nigel is,' observed Preston.

'Isn't it obvious? Nigel was Preston's younger brother…and they both have some sort of connection with you guys.' There was a decidedly un-stunned silence, marked by blank expressions from Nigel and Preston. 'Oh, come on! This is beyond déjà vu…you both know this place like the back of your hands!'

Nigel was uncomfortable: 'I think we need to look for proper evidence of who this Nigel was... we can't assume he was Preston's brother, just because Preston and I are brothers.'

'I bet you there is something here that will tell us for sure,' said Sydney. All three returned to their search, thoughtful and quiet.

After a few minutes, Sydney noticed that Preston was sitting quite still. He was holding out in front of him a small wooden chest.

'What have you found?' she asked.

'I don't know,' said Preston. ' There are initials carved on it: N.F.' He instinctively handed the little box to Nigel: 'You open it.'

Nigel rested it on his knees and turned the fragile, little key, which waited for its owner in the miniature lock. He gingerly opened the lid, to reveal a little collection of toys - mainly carved wooden knights and horses - and a copy of a well-thumbed leather bound book.

''The Fortunes of Nigel' by Sir Walter Scott.' Nigel spoke the title before he'd even opened the cover to reveal it. 'I read it as a boy…I enjoyed it.' He flicked through the pages. 'Some of the passages are underlined,' he observed quietly. 'Somebody loved this book very much.'

Inside the middle of the book were a couple of folded pieces of yellowing paper.

The first was a commission in the Queen's Own 6th Dragoon Guards in the name of Nigel Finchley, aged 21.

The second was a letter. The handwriting was decidedly shaky:

_1st October, 1875._

_Sir Preston,_

_I am departing tonight to join my regiment in India. _

_Don't worry about me and, whatever you do, don't follow me._

_Your affectionate brother,_

_N.F._

Nigel had barely scanned if before he placed the whole box back on the floor and jumped up, turning to face his brother. He clenched his fists, anger overwhelming him.

'Yes, Nigel was Sir Preston's brother, all right. It all makes perfect sense! Sir Preston forced Nigel to join the army. He didn't want to go… the voyage was pure hell. He nearly died…he would have done if he hadn't had help, and when he got there….'

'NO!' shouted Preston, taking a step back but nearly matching his brother's passion. 'Sir Preston wouldn't have done that! Not if he _knew_ his brother was poorly… he tried to stop him. He did all he could!'

'Hey!' Sydney stepped between the two men before they came to blows. 'You guys have added a few extra details that weren't in the letter. Preston, how the heck do you know that Nigel - past Nigel, I mean - was ill? And, how do you know about the voyage, Nigel?'

'It was hell…hell!' shouted Nigel. Sydney had never seen her usually mild mannered assistant blaze with such anger. She slipped an arm around his shoulders and guided him away from his brother.

'Nigel…calm down.' She prized the letter from his grip, and read it quickly again. 'We don't know that Preston forced Nigel to go to India.' She added quietly: 'if the past Nigel was anything like the one I know, he had a far stronger will than his brother.'

'Why else would he go to India?' demanded Nigel.

'To take the ruby?' suggested Sydney. 'We know that he still had it with him there in 1920. He must have liked it there – maybe he liked the army life…or stayed on to study the history.'

'I don't think so.'

'Why not? It all makes sense. All we need to know now is exactly _where_ in India that Nigel went. It's a big place…'

'It is indeed! An ominous voice cut the atmosphere like a knife.

'Deviega!' Sydney swerved her torchlight in the direction of the hated sound. She launched forward, primed for action.

'There are four men with guns behind me, Professor Fox, and one of them has his weapon pointed at the head of your assistant. One more step, and he is as dead as all those corpses you like to study.'

Sydney backed off a little, wincing at the sound of her enemy's malicious laugh.

'How on earth did anybody trace us here?' whined Preston. He turned to Nigel accusingly. 'Why are there always hardened criminals on your trail? And why do they point guns at me?'

Deviega chuckled. 'Maybe you should have noticed the tracking device in your shiny, new Volvo, Mr Bailey?'

'Oh,' said Preston, somewhat humbled.

'The most entertaining aspect of all this is that _I_ now know more about where the ruby is than the woman branded the world's foremost relic hunter. After you left, I had a quick search around my London offices – as you had intended to, Sydney.'

Sydney curled her lip, and cursed herself. Maybe she shouldn't have let so much information slip.

'Granted, I didn't have much time, as I knew you'd have the half the secret services in the western hemisphere on me in a tick. But I _did_ stumble across a little collection of papers under the floorboards that told the intriguing story of an eminent Victorian gentleman named…De Veleye. It seems that a family in India rewarded De Veleye with the Diamond Ruby to pay honest debts. Unfortunately, some rogue stole it back off him. Now, I have a notion that the villain that stole the Ruby took it back to India, and probably back to the noble family whose right to it had been vanquished. De Veleye's papers revealed where they lived, but to piece the puzzle together I needed to know the name of the dishonest villain.'

Deviega shone the torch into Nigel's eyes, causing him to squint. 'I believe you hold the key, Mr Bailey. The letter?'

'Give it to him, Nigel.'

Nigel passed Deviega the letter.

'And the other one,' demanded Deviega.

Nigel handed over the commission but, despite some nervous fumbling, managed to conceal the little leather-bound book before Deviega's saw it.

'Good,' said Deviega, casting his eyes over the papers: 'Nigel Finchley, eh? Let's hope the dirty thief is burning in hell.' He slipped the notes in his pocket.

'Now, I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you. I've heard the current owners of this lovely, mediaeval mansion spend barely a month of the year here. I'm sure, when they return in eight months time, it'll be at harrowing experience to find that some common burglars accidentally shut themselves in the basement and slowly starved to death!'

Sydney, noticing the retreating gunman dropping his aim at Nigel, lunged at her hated nemesis as he backed towards the door.

There was a resounding shot, and Preston sank to the floor, grabbing his arm. Nigel cried out, and dashed to his side.

'You'll pay for this you son-of-a-bitch,' she snarled. She flung her knife at his back, but instead hit the iron-enforced door as it slammed shut. 'It'll be a pound of flesh I'll be taking from you next time we meet!'

'Farewell, Sydney Fox,' bellowed Deviega. 'You nearly matched me… but maybe you aren't _quite_ the best!'

Sydney pounded against the door in sheer frustration, as the footsteps faded up the narrow, spiral staircase.

………………………………

**Woh - that was a long one!**

**Thanks for reading. Please review. **


	9. Part eight: From the depths

Thanks for the reviews!

Disclaimers: as ever.

**21st Century: Finchley Hall, Kent.**

'You're a dead man, Deviega!'

Sydney turned and shone her torch in the direction of her assistant and his brother.

'Are you okay?'

'No!' wailed Preston, clutching his arm. 'I'm in excruciating pain! I think I'm bleeding to death!'

Nigel, despite his initial concern, was somewhat dubious about this contention. There was, indeed, a rip in his brother's sleeve and a small patch of blood was forming. The extent of the damage, however, seemed far from life-threatening.

Sydney pulled her knife from where it had wedged in the back of the closed door, and came over.

Preston regarded the weapon with alarm.

'You're not intending to cut the bullet out, are you?'

'Err, no,' said Sydney. 'I'm not. Particularly seeing as it's on the floor over there.' She pointed with her torch at the said bullet, lying on the stone flags, and asked Nigel: 'Is it any more than a scratch?'

'Hard to tell,' said Nigel, knitting his brow in mock concern. 'Maybe you should cut the sleeve off his jacket to find out whether we need to amputate or not?'

'What?' yelped Preston. 'Have you any idea how much this golf jacket cost me?' He gingerly started to ease it off. 'This is nothing that a trip to the dry cleaners and a quick darn from Mrs Miggins, my housekeeper, won't fix. Ow!'

'You're not dying then, Preston?' asked Nigel innocently.

Preston scowled. 'No. But it bloody well hurts! You're not very sympathetic, are you?'

'You can talk! You were hardly oozing with brotherly love at the hospital earlier! If I as much as sniffed as a child, you told me to stop whining.'

'You _were_ a cry baby, Podge.'

'I was not! And don't call me that stupid, bloody name…'

Sydney refrained from bashing their heads together, but only just.

'Will you two zip it? For Christ's sake, when you're apart you act vaguely like grown men, but when you're together…you should see yourselves! It's pathetic.'

Preston and Nigel gaped at her like goldfish, both repressing the desire to say, 'he started it!'

'Sorry,' mumbled Nigel, after a second. The apology was for Sydney

'Yeah, sorry,' added Preston, also addressing the only female member of the company. He then caught sight of the little leather novel, still clutched in Nigel's hand. Utterly out of the blue, he patted his younger brother on the back with his uninjured arm. 'Sorry, Nigel. I guess I wasn't very sympathetic before.'

Nigel nearly dropped the book in shock. 'That's okay,' he stuttered. Then, hardly believing what he was doing, he looked his brother in the eyes and added: 'I'm sorry too.'

'Good,' said Sydney, feeling more like a mollified mother than she'd ever wanted to. She found a piece of clean cloth, and bandaged Preston's arm.

'Now, let's focus on finding a way out here. Otherwise we're going to be in much more danger of starving than bleeding to death. I don't suppose anybody can get a signal on their mobile? '

They all tried. Underground and in the middle of the countryside as they were, they had no luck.

'Okay, guys,' said Sydney calmly. 'It's kind of obvious you both have some sort of 'connection' with this place. I'm going to need you to think really hard, and see if you can recall a way to get out of here.'

'What do you mean, 'connection?''

'Come on, Preston,' urged Nigel impatiently. 'I didn't buy it at first either, but surely you can feel it now? If I'm correct, Syd has a theory that we might have looked for this relic before…all of us. Over one hundred years ago.'

'Oh heavens. You've both been watching too much X-Files.'

'I would have said that as well, before. But how did we know so much about Sir Preston Finchley and his brother?' Nigel thought to himself: 'And why was I more furious with you than I ever remember feeling before…in this lifetime.'

Nigel sensed Preston wavering. The elder brother frowned. 'Past life or not…I don't see how it will help us get out of here. There's never any more than one exit from a medieval undercroft like this. It wasn't part of the architectural style - it would be unprecedented.'

Sydney was already scouting around the walls, looking for loose stones or signs of a blocked up door.

'I've got to admit,' she breathed, 'it doesn't look good at the moment.'

Nigel suddenly remembered the 'The Legends of Nigel.' One small plot point, concerning a secret tunnel, which had excited him as a boy, popped into his head: 'I wonder if there is a hidden passage in this undercroft?'

'Don't be ridiculous,' snapped Preston. 'Oh hell, we're going to starve!'

Sydney buzzed with hope as Nigel walked straight over to a corner of the room where the ceiling stooped far too low for an adult to stand upright.

He crouched down and began to search. Sure enough, scratched in a childish hand, he found a motto:

'Fair play and Old England for ever!'

'Syd…look at this!' Sydney dashed over as Nigel tried pressing and pushing the stone in a variety of ways. 'Nothing,' he murmured, and her heart sank a little.

Nigel's spirits were still high, and even Preston came over to see what was happening. 'I think it's a line from _this _book,' burbled Nigel, brandishing the novel. 'I wonder if it's one of the underlined passages.'

He began thumbing through, noting the most well-worn pages and marked sections, until he found the line: 'here we are: 'Fair play and Old England for ever!'

'A fine notion,' observed Preston. 'But I still don't see how it's going to help us.'

'Look Nigel,' said Sydney. She pointed to the page number that, unlike any other in the book, was circled in pencil.

'Page 34. 3-4. I wonder…'

Sydney counted three stones across from the edge of the low wall and four down. The stone she landed on was blank, but there was a small, worn patch in the middle of it, which looked as if it may have been pressed many times.

'This is it!' cried Nigel, squeezing in front of his boss and pressing the stone before she had a chance. It shifted in about an inch and clicked. There was a rumbling noise, and the stone flagged floor beneath their feet began to move.

They jumped backwards just in time to prevent themselves tumbling down the staircase that opened up.

'Yes!' shouted Nigel. 'I knew it! I just knew it!'

'Good work!' smiled Sydney.

'Not bad, Podge,' conceded Preston, as they started to climb down the staircase. 'But I'm afraid it disproves your former life theories. There is no way that Sir Preston would have not known about a secret passage in his own manor house. If I had once been him, it would have been me who found the passage. I'm almost disappointed… it would've been nice to have known I was once a baronet!'

'I wonder,' mused Nigel, 'After all, Sir Preston was not the only person who lived here. The book that held the key was 'The Legends of Nigel,' and _not _of Preston.'

Preston, uncharacteristically, did not reply, and the two brothers followed Sydney down the dark tunnel in speculative silence.

……………………………………………….

**_1875: S.S.Euripides, somewhere off the coast of the Iberian Peninsular._**

_Three days sail from the port of London, Captain Dirk Lloyd returned to his bunk to find Privates Browne and Collins, comrades of his, playing dice. At stake were a scarlet officer's jacket and the contents of a small, black travelling back, strewn carelessly across the floor._

'_What the hell is going on here?' demanded Lloyd, smelling a rat._

'_The toff in the top bunk is dead…or as good as,' sneered Browne. 'He hasn't moved for two days. It will be a 'quick Christian service and over the side' for him in the morning.'_

'_So you thought a sick man's possessions were fair game, did you?' _

_The men glanced sheepishly at each other. Lloyd was tough and strong and had a reputation as a vicious fighter: 'We'll cut you in if you like?' suggested Collins, begrudgingly._

_Captain Lloyd seized him by the collar: 'Get your hands of the boy's things, or it'll be your throat that I'll be taking a cut at!'_

_He released the terrified man, who swore an oath and scuttled away, followed by his angered but cowardly companion._

_Dirk gathered up the few little belongings, which included a leather-bound copy of 'The Fortunes of Nigel' by Sir Walter Scott, and put them back in the bag._

_The soldier then peered into the top bunk with trepidation. He had spent most of the voyage so far on deck - he loved the sea and the swish of the wind against his face - or playing cards and drinking rum with fellow, boisterous travellers. He'd not been back to the bunkroom enough times to register that the young officer he'd encountered on the first day had not moved at all. Remembering the man's dubious condition, he feared the worst._

_Amidst what at first seemed to be an unmoving pile of blankets, he found an arm. It was cool and clammy, but it wasn't quite cold. After a search, he located a pulse._

'_Jesus Christ,' he muttered. 'I've found stronger beats in a corpse on a battlefield.'_

_He pulled back the covers and slapped the man firmly on side of his face._

'_Come on, lad. Wake up.'_

_There was a vague murmur through dry lips, then nothing. The boy's skin had a nasty greenish tinge._

_Lloyd slapped Nigel again. It was hard enough to bring some colour back to his cheeks, although not as an indicator of health. 'Wake up, or you're a dead man.'_

_Nigel moaned, and pried his eyes languidly open. He stared vacantly at the weather-worn yet still handsome face that peered across at him. Its unfamiliarity disturbed him, and he began to shut them again._

'_No you don't.' Lloyd cupped a solid hand around Nigel's chin, and forced his face in his direction. He then reached into his jacket with the other, and pulled out a flask of whisky._

'_Drink that.'_

_Ignoring Nigel's incoherent protests, he poured the pungent liquid into his mouth. Nigel swallowed a bit and then involuntarily spluttered most of it out again. Lloyd, who had been right in the firing line, grinned peevishly._

'_That was my best scotch, puppy.'_

'_Sorry,' said Nigel. The liquid did have a reviving effect._

'_Just out of interest, when did you last move…or eat or drink anything?'_

_Nigel looked even more bewildered. 'I have no idea. I tried to get up a couple of times…but the motion of the waves made me feel sick… I gave up trying.'_

'_If you lie here much longer, you're going straight down to Davy Jones's locker.' _

_Nigel looked confused._

'_Never mind,' said Dirk. 'Let's get you up on deck. You might feel better if you stare at the horizon. I was seasick on my first voyage, and I recall that it helped.'_

_Nigel didn't relish the prospect, but allowed Dirk to help him down from the bunk._

_At his feet touched the deck, the full sensation of the swelling waves hit him again. Nigel's head swam, his knee buckled and he flopped down onto the lower bunk with a disconsolate groan. His head landed against his own, black, leather travelling bag._

'_Come on.' Lloyd started to pull Nigel upright again, but the young officer was now distracted by the sight of his rifled belongings._

'_My bag! What are you doing with my things?' _

'_Saving them, like I'm trying to save your sorry little soul! Two of our honourable fellow soldiers were playing dice for the richest pickings.' Dirk glanced around the bunk area. 'Damn it. They made off with your jacket, I'm afraid.'_

'_My jacket!' Nigel started for the door, but his legs gave way again, and Lloyd steadied him. 'They can't…I must have it back.' Nigel's heart and mind raced wildly: the Diamond Ruby was in the jacket! He had no recollection of even taking it off, but must have discarded it while in his fevered state. _

_Nigel looked at the sturdy soldier pleadingly. 'Please…you've got to help me find it.'_

'_Hey! I'm doing you a favour, already: I like dead puppies even less than I like whining ones. But I'm certainly not taking any orders from you.'_

'_I'm not ordering you,' entreated Nigel. 'I'm begging you to help me. There is something precious in my jacket. If I loose it, my life won't be worth living anyway.'_

'_We'll see,' said Dirk, mildly moved by Nigel's sincerity, but still more concerned he would be bunking with a dead body in the morning. 'Let's get you out into the fresh air, shall we?' _

'_I must find it…for Miss Carraway…for Sydney,' whimpered Nigel. The incessant motion of the ship made him feel too nauseous to say much else as Lloyd hauled him bodily in the direction of the upper deck._

_**1875: Carraway Residence, Boston, Massachusetts.**_

_Miss Sydney Carraway left her father's bedside with ambiguous emotions._

_The overriding factor ought to have been relief that her father's illness was not life-threatening. A feared 'consumption' had turned into little more than a cough and a cold. _

_The 'problem' in Sydney's eyes was that he had been well looked after – rather too well looked after – by Jennifer, the fair-haired, pretty, and very young nurse, who had been employed for the task. _

_As she left the room, she saw Jennifer bounce out of a chair, and onto the bed itself, nestling close to her father, who held out his arm to receive her._

_The girl was younger than she was! 'I'm not jealous,' Sydney told herself, plotting to have some stern words with her father. 'It's only because I care. She's undoubtedly a gold-digger.' _

_A housemaid handed her a letter. She vaguely recognised the handwriting, and hoped it would be from Nigel. She tore it open without assistance._

_To her dismay, it was from Sir Preston, and it opened with the bad news about his discovery of the ruby and Nigel's 'inexplicable' departure. The baronet followed this with an incoherent scrawl - between the words of which dripped insidious guilt - about how he was intent on following Nigel to India, and that Monsieur De Veleye would be accompanying him._

'_De Veleye!' gasped Sydney. 'Preston, you really are a fool!'_

_The end of the letter had a more confessional tone: _

'_Please, Miss Carraway, I beg you to join me in India. I take a great risk by writing to you and De Veleye threatens that if I do not deliver the Ruby to him, he will ruin me. Maybe your presence would give me some choices?_

_We leave on the 5th of October, on a fast steamer that goes through the Suez Canal. Nigel has taken a tea-clipper which sails around the Cape of Good Hope. We do not know if we will arrive in Calcutta before or after him. I pray to God that you will be there to help us soon.'_

'_Damn, you fool!' This time, Sydney cursed herself. 'You caused this mess, Sydney Carraway, you're going to have to go and sort it out.'_

_She dashed back towards her father's bedroom, only to run straight into the petite but buxom figure of Jennifer._

'_Oh, Miss Carraway!' The nurse smiled, broadly but nervously. 'You startled me.'_

'_I need to speak to my father,' said Sydney briskly. 'Some important business has come up, and I have to leave.'_

'_Now? Oh, that is a shame, Ma'am. He will be sorry…and so will I.'_

_Sydney eyeballed the girl suspiciously. 'Why are you sorry that I'm leaving?'_

_The nurse flushed a delicate pink. 'I would have liked have got to know you so much better before…oh,' she raised some tiny fingers to her full, cherry-like lips, 'I've said too much. Please, speak to Randolph… I mean Mr Carraway.'_

'_I will… thank you!' _

_Sydney passed brusquely on into the room to see her father sitting in an armchair with the broadest grin on his face that she'd seen since the death of her mother, fifteen years ago. Glancing over her shoulder to see the pretty nurse's glowing smile, she knew what had happened before either of them spoke a word: they were engaged._

…………………………………

_Jennifer left the father and daughter in peace soon after the silent revelation was made. _

'_Father,' pleaded Sydney, trying to conceal her extreme agitation. 'Please don't do this. She's only after your money. She doesn't care about you, not like I do.'_

'_No, she doesn't love me like you do, Pixie.' Sydney winced at her childhood pet-name, which seemed inappropriate at such a moment. 'It's very different. But she does love me, and I love her. If you just gave her a chance, I know you'd love her too.'_

'_Like a mother? Heavens, I don't think so.'_

_Her father took her hand, and stroked the back of it lightly with his thumb. His daughter's harsh temper softened slightly at the loving touch. 'Don't worry. Nobody will ever replace your mother in my heart. But maybe you could think of Jennifer as more like a sister?'_

_Sydney bristled visibly. Her father squeezed her hand._

'_You're going to have to trust me on this one, Sydney. I've always trusted you, haven't I? I've let you do things that nobody else in my position would have let their daughter do.'_

'_That was different.'_

'_How? You and I have always done things our own way, even when society frowned upon us. Why are you bowing to convention now?'_

_Sydney breathed outwards slowly. She had to concede that her father's point was a good one. _

'_Just be careful, pa,' she said. _

_As she pecked him abruptly on the cheek, Randolph sensed that his daughter was still deeply unhappy. _

'_I don't want this to come between us. Please don't be upset.'_

_Sydney shook her head hastily. 'It isn't Jennifer that is worrying me, father. I have to go again. Today - immediately, in fact.'_

'_Why?' _

_Sydney sat down on the arm of his chair with a sigh. 'I've made a terrible mess. Because of me, a young man is in great danger. I have to go to India to put things right.'_

_Randolph frowned. 'My little girl never makes many mistakes. But when she does, she always puts things right. That's what makes me proud.'_

_Sydney looked down to her hands, her fingers tangling in her lap. 'You think too much of me…'_

'_It's not like my Pixie to dwell on her miseries, either.'_

_'No,' said Sydney resolutely, determination returning to her countenance. 'And I don't intend to. I'm getting the first steamer from Boston that heads across the Atlantic and then, by land or sea, I'm going to make it to India faster than any man alive!'_

'_That's my girl!' grinned Randolph. 'And don't worry: there won't be any weddings before you return. I won't be walking up the aisle without you there to see me!' _

_Sydney was making for the door, when her father called her back: 'I've just remembered: I received a letter this morning from a Mr De Veleye. I met him a while back - he was a shifty feller, and I had no intention of doing business with him. However, he said something about a ruby that you wanted?'_

'_De Veleye? A ruby? Where's the letter?'_

'_Here…' Randolph pulled a piece of paper from a little writing desk placed near his chair. 'If you really want the jewel, I can buy it for you as a present… if you recommend him, maybe we should do business…'_

_Sydney grabbed it: 'He's lying! He has to be lying.' She turned her father. 'Don't reply to him, and never have anything to do with that man again. This is supposed to put me off the scent…I have to get to Nigel before that monster does.'_

'_Nigel? Is that the name of the young man?'_

'_Yes… oh, father, don't look at me like that. He's only 21, just a child. Which makes it all the worse…'_

'_When you were 21, you travelled, all alone, up the east coast of China. If I'd called you a child, you'd have socked me!'_

_Sydney licked her lips in edgy contemplation. 'He's not a child, perhaps. But Nigel is so different from me. He's very…unworldly.'_

'_Do you love him?'_

_Her emotions hovered uncertainly. 'I care for him very much. '_

'_Then go, Sydney. With my blessings, as ever!'_

_Sydney internally chastised herself for her earlier harsh judgment of her doting father. 'Thanks, pa. Take care of yourself.'_

_'Don't worry about me now, Sydney,' said Randolph, kissing her hand as she edged away. 'I've got Jennifer.'_

_Sydney Carraway left the room with only a mildly forced grin and, after some hasty packing, began her race with time._

**_1875: S.S.Euripides, still somewhere off the coast of the Iberian Peninsular._**

_Once on the deck of the Euripides, Captain Lloyd guided Nigel towards a small barrel, at the bottom of a large pile, of the same. _

'_Fresh air, food and liquor. That's what you need, my friend.' _

_Nigel gratefully plonked himself down and then scowled at his unlikely nursemaid: 'you sound like my brother.' _

_Dirk ignored him and pointed at the horizon. _'_Stare at that. Glue your eyes to it, and think about dry, flat land.'_

_Nigel, too weak to do much else, obeyed. 'Oh God…tell me this is particularly rough going? Even the bloody horizon is moving! It will get better, won't it?'_

_Lloyd snorted. 'It isn't calm…but it isn't rough. You'll only learn the meaning of the word 'rough' when we round the Cape of Good Hope.'_

_A little more of Nigel's hope dwindled. _

'_Hey,' said Dirk. 'Let's hope we hit a calm first.' _

_Nigel fixed his eyes on the edge of the world and Dirk fixed his inquisitive gaze on the young officer. The lad looked little more than seventeen or eighteen years old, but was such a slight, little thing that Dirk wondered if he mightn't be older, just perennially boyish. The seasoned solider wondered what self-respecting parents – rich enough to buy a commission - would send him away on this arduous voyage. Scions of the gentry were rarely suited to army life, but this one had looked ill way before they'd hit too many stomach-wrenching waves._

_His curiosity led him to realise that he'd not even asked the man's name. He did so._

'_Nigel Finchley, huh? Sounds suitably aristocratic. Let me guess, you're the younger son of a baronet.'_

_Nigel laughed ruefully, not shifting his eyes from the world's end. 'I was. Now I'm just a younger brother. My parents are dead.'_

'_Uh,' nodded Dirk. 'Never even knew mine. Your brother sent you away then?'_

'_Family tradition,' said Nigel. 'He bought me a commission.' _

'_Bad luck, lad.' Dirk handed him some dry ships biscuits and Nigel realised that he did, indeed, feel a little better. He daren't look away from the distance, but he stuffed one in his mouth, and choked it down. He then took a couple more swigs of Dirk's whisky, and felt relatively fortified._

_He glanced up at his companion: 'Please, you've got to help me find my jacket. It's really important to me.'_

_Dirk shrugged. 'Chances are the boys are still squabbling over it. Mightn't be too hard.'_

_For first time, he saw Nigel smile. It was a cheeky, endearing little grin: 'you'll help me, then?'_

'_Yeah, why not. I've nothing else to do for the next week than pick fights. I might as well pick yours! There's a mess-room down below, where the fellows drink and gamble. We'll start there.'_

_He offered Nigel a hand, and helped him to his feet. 'Ready for a scrap?'_

_Nigel cringed. 'Do you really think it will come to fighting?'_

'_Oh, I know it will,' smirked Dirk, and guided his increasingly apprehensive companion towards a ladder that led down below. _

…………………………………

**21st Century, Finchley Hall, Kent.**

When Sydney, Preston and Nigel emerged from the end of the secret tunnel, they found themselves in the middle of a dark, and increasingly dank, forest.

'We must be back in Finchley Wood,' said Sydney. 'Okay, you guys, you're on. What's the quickest way back to the car?

Nigel shrugged. 'It's hard to tell in the dark – a wood's a wood – but I'd say that the drive is this way.' He pointed with his torch.

'I'll go with that,' said Preston.

'That's at least the third thing you two have agreed on today,' said Sydney, impressed. 'It's got to be a record...'

As they approach the drive, they heard some worrying noises. Firstly, an alarm was going off. Secondly, they heard the roar of an approaching car engine. Stumbling on the road to the house, they saw two blazing headlights tearing towards them down the sloping driveway.

'Its Deviega coming back!' panicked Nigel.

'Quick, hide!' said Preston, who was already half way back into the bushes.

Sydney did not react so quickly, although her instincts were by far the sharpest: she had heard a further noise - a woman's scream.

She watched as the car whizzed by her, and saw sheer terror on the female driver's face.

'The cars out of control,' shouted Sydney. 'She's going to crash.'

Sydney sprinted up the drive after the speeding car, Nigel hot on her heels.

'She's going to end up in the moat!' he shouted. 'The drawbridge was up when we arrived…'

An almighty splash confirmed that he was right.

Reaching the edge of the water, they both frantically shone their torches, locating where the car was sinking fast. Syd passed her light to Nigel.

'Hold that. I'm going to get the driver out.'

Nigel took it, and nodded worriedly. 'Be careful, Syd. Shout if you need help.'

'Will do!' She kicked off her shoes, and dived expertly into the moat.

Fortunately, the water was not deep, and the car, although overturned, had not sunk too far. She located it on her first dive and came up for a deep breath. With a second, momentous effort, she opened the door of the car, released the woman's safety-belt, and dragged her to the surface.

'Got her!'

Both of the Bailey brothers were at the side of the moat now, and pulled out the stricken driver.

'She isn't breathing…Preston, take care of Sydney.' As Syd climbed out of the moat, Nigel fumbled to undo the top buttons on the woman's blouse, and then began a sequence of CPR.

After a few, anxious moments, she woman gasped, and convulsively spluttered out half a lungful of water.

'Its okay, Madam. You're safe now.' Nigel went to help her into the recovery position.

The woman shunned his assistance, and sat up. 'That bastard Deviega…' she spat. 'He cut my brakes. He tried to kill me.'

Sydney, dripping wet and shaking off the duckweed entangled in her fingers, recognised the woman and as the redhead who had aided her escape.

'I told you that Deviega will stab anyone in the back. You were lucky we were here.'

'Yeah, I've been a goddam fool. He promised me the two things I needed…money, and…well, I should never have believed him about that. I lost the only person who would ever have given me love and…shit, what am I doing telling this to you guys?'

'Its okay,' said Sydney. 'Deviega has taken in the best of people over the years with his smooth talking. The _very _best…'

'Yeah?' snarled Molly. 'While _I'm_ hardly the best. When I found that he'd locked you guys in the castle, I decided enough was enough. I didn't want to work for a killer… but I was stupid enough to think I could just drive away.'

'Don't cut yourself up about it,' advised Sydney. 'You've had a hard time.'

Molly's anger lessened as she absorbed the sight of Nigel. 'Thank you Mr Bailey…you saved my life.'

'Please, call me Nigel…and I think it's Sydney who did the dangerous bit.'

'Thank you, Sydney,' said Molly. She smiled provocatively at Nigel. 'It's nice to meet you properly at last.'

'At last?'

'Yeah,' said Sydney, rolling her eyes ironically. 'Meet Deviega's chief spy. She's been trailing us for days. Hey, what's your name?'

'Molly Gages. And I'm afraid I also bugged Mr Preston Bailey's car,' she admitted.

'My lovely new Volvo!' exclaimed Preston. 'I hope you didn't damage it!'

Molly was still gazing at Nigel. 'I hope your head is alright. I didn't mean to hit you quite so hard.'

'My head? Bloody hell! That was you as well, was it?' Nigel jumped up, and motioned Sydney aside. 'We can't trust her. This could all be an elaborate set up.'

'I don't think so,' said Syd. 'Deviega tried to kill her. That pisses off even the most loyal of henchwomen. Besides, I don't reckon Molly is _all_ bad, just desperate. She seems rather fond of you.' She nudged her assistant suggestively.

Nigel looked uneasy. 'I'm still not sure…' He noticed Sydney was shivering, pulled off his own jacket and nestled it over her shoulders. 'We'd better get you both somewhere warm.'

Preston dashed off see if he could fetch his car, and was back in a few minutes to pick them up. Conveniently, Molly's out of control vehicle had smashed straight through the front gates, setting off an alarm but also making it possible for Preston to drive straight in.

They piled into the car. Preston turned the heating up to full blast and looked over to Nigel and Sydney in the backseat: 'what now?'

'You guys are going to stop that bastard finding the ruby,' growled Molly. 'And I know where he's going.'

'You know the name of the noble family who guarded the ruby and where they lived?'

'Yeah. I helped him locate the papers under the floorboards in the Dean Court tenements. I'm guessing that's what you were looking for.'

'We were hoping to locate _something_ there,' admitted Sydney. 'So, what did you find?'

'There was a letter from an Indian woman named Meena. She begged him to return the Ruby - which, of course, De Veleye did not. But then the Ruby was taken from him…'

'If this past Nigel fellow had any honour, he would have delivered the ruby back to Meena,' interjected Preston. 'And she, or her descendants, may hold the key to where the ruby is now.'

Nigel gave his brother a long, questioning look.

'Where did Meena live?' asked Sydney.

'I'll tell you, on one condition,' said Molly.

Sydney shrugged. 'What?'

'I get to kill Deviega.'

'Hey, I sympathise…but surely you'd rather see him locked up for good?'

'He and I have a history.'

'I really _do_ know how you feel! Tell me where Meena lived. And, as for Deviega…I can't promise that if it comes to it, I won't…' Syd caught Nigel's cautioning glare and broke off. 'If you find him first…that's your business. I just hope he doesn't add you to his body count.'

'He's already tried… what do I care?' She gave a humourless laugh. 'Meena lived in a small town named Meerutan. That's where Deviega thinks the Diamond Ruby is, although he doesn't hold all the pieces of the puzzle yet... '

Sydney nodded affirmatively. 'Okay, Preston, drive us to Heathrow.'

'Now?'

Nigel shot Sydney disbelieving glance. 'Is _she_ coming with us?'

Molly looked slightly disappointed, but said: 'No. We part ways at the airport. From now on, I work alone.'

……………………….

Thanks for reading. Please review.


	10. Part nine: High stakes

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for the reviews. **

…………………………..

Karen called from Trinity University while Sydney, Nigel, Preston and Molly were stuck in another traffic jam on the way to the airport.

'Hey, Sydney, are you all right? Did you catch up with Nigel?'

'Yeah, I'm fine, thanks. Since we talked last, Deviega left us to rot in the dungeon of a castle, but we got away.'

'Wow! That sounds serious.'

'Next time I see that lowlife, it _will _be…anyway, did you find anything else on Sydney Carraway.'

'Oh yeah,' replied Karen. 'I sure did. It seems your namesake left thousands in her will to the museum in Calcutta, including all her research. Seeing as there are no signs of her personal papers among the Carraway business archive in Boston, I'm figuring any diaries or letters that survived might have gotten mixed up with the papers that went to India. I called Saritha, and she's already searching.'

'Good work, Karen. We're on our way to the airport, anyway. We found out that Nigel took the ruby back to India.'

'Nigel? _Our_ Nigel?'

'Err, no, another Nigel, one who was a friend of Sydney Carraway.'

'Wow – you're on the trail of a Sydney and Nigel who lived over a hundred years ago. Coincidence, huh?'

'I'm not so sure…' At that moment, the line began cracking and the phone cut off.

'Damn. I've lost her.' Sydney could just picture the smart, blonde secretary's quizzical expression as she mulled over her bosses final words. She handed the mobile back to Nigel. 'Karen's come up with a good theory: Sydney Carraway's papers might have been sent to the museum in Calcutta with her research. If they are, they might reveal where Nigel went.'

'Just be careful,' said Molly. The others jumped at the unexpected intervention. She had been very quiet since they left Finchley Hall. 'Deviega knows about your links with the museum in Calcutta,' she continued. 'He could be heading there first, before going on to Meerutan'

'I'll watch my back,' said Syd. 'Thanks….'

'It's a pleasure.' Molly glanced over her shoulder and fixed Nigel with a pair of imploringly curious green eyes. There were several seconds of awkward silence.

Nigel wriggled uncomfortably, and frantically sought words to break the deadlock.

'If you don't mind me asking,' he said at length, 'how did you get involved with Deviega in the first place?'

Molly breathed deeply, turned back to the front, and began her story: 'Deviega employed Peter - my archaeologist boyfriend - on a dig in India. It was nothing difficult for him, he was a good at fieldwork…but he signed a lot of privacy papers and agreements, which meant he didn't talk to any authorities about the project.'

'Whatever possessed him to get involved with something like that?' asked Nigel.

Molly laughed ruefully. 'I can tell that you're bloody Oxbridge! If you're _not_ at the 'elite' universities, it's nearly impossible to get funding for history or archaeology projects in the UK. Deviega offered good money! Peter was able to employ me as his assistant: I was an ancient history student myself then. We had a brilliant summer. Then everything went wrong. The dig was raided, and all the artefacts we'd found – some of them worth millions - disappeared. Deviega fled to Singapore, and Peter followed him, to try and find out what had happened, and where our finds were.'

'I'm betting Peter discovered that the dig was funded by international crime,' growled Syd. 'They were probably onto something big.'

'Whatever it was, after Peter was killed I was too lost to care. I thought that Peter was everything and, with him gone, I've thrown it all away. Maybe if I'd met...someone else sooner, it could have been different.' She shot Nigel a meaningful look. He responded by looking flustered and blank.

Molly's freckled features moulded as hard as granite: 'And now I just want to see that bastard cold and dead, his blood running red in the grey, morning light. '

'I'm still saying be careful, that's all,' warned Sydney. She caught another cautioning glare from Nigel, who then looked at Molly benignly.

'Are you sure this is the best way?' he asked her. 'Why don't you just put it all behind you, and go back to your studies? There's more to life them running around the world looking for relics…or relic hunters.' Sydney raised her eyebrows at him. 'There is!' he protested.

Molly didn't respond. Instead, she turned and addressed Preston: 'Could you let me off at these motorway services?'

'You don't want to go all the way to the airport?'

'No thanks. I'll take it on my own from now. I need some dry clothes, and my passport. I can get a bus home from here.'

'Oh, fair enough,' said Preston, and pulled off the motorway and to a halt outside a dreary truckers cafe.

'This is fine. Thanks for the lift.' Molly turned to Sydney and Nigel in the backseat. 'Thank you for everything. I hope we might meet again.'

She offered a handshake, which Sydney received congenially: 'I hope we do.' Her gaze drifted furtively to Nigel.

'Goodbye,' he smiled. 'Please _do_ think about going back to university. Maybe then we can meet under happier circumstances: at a conference, or something?'

For the first time, a spark of hope glimmered in Molly's emerald eyes. 'Perhaps. Goodbye, Nigel Bailey.'

Before he could urge the point further, she slammed the door and was gone.

'I hope she knows what she's doing,' muttered Sydney.

……………………

On entering the airport complex, Preston started following the signs towards the long-stay car parks.

'What you doing?' asked Nigel, tapping Preston officiously on the shoulder. 'You only need the short-stay area to drop us off?'

'I'm coming too,' said Preston jauntily. He flashed Sydney what he considered to be his most charming smile: 'if I may, Professor Fox?'

'Why do you want to come with us?' asked Sydney.

'If all this past-life rubbish is true, then I appear to be as mixed up in it as you are. I was _Sir_ Preston, you know?'

'I knew this would happen,' seethed Nigel, running his fingers through his hair in exasperation. 'He thinks he's 'to the Manor born!' We'll never hear the last of this… at least, _I_ won't.'

Sydney looked at Nigel guiltily. 'Preston has a point. He _is_ involved in this as well, and he might be able to help us.'

'Surely you don't have your passport on you?' asked Nigel keenly.

Preston patted his dashboard. 'It's in the glove compartment, old boy. I put it there last night so I wouldn't forget it on the way to the golf club. I was going to use it as my proof of identity. With a recommendation from Martin Gleig of the Royal Academy Museum, they were going to make me a full member.'

'Then go and let them make you a member tomorrow,' demanded Nigel. 'Really, Preston, _why_ do you want to come?'

Preston pulled into a parking space in the long-stay car park. He turned off the engine and stared straight ahead, his demeanour uncharacteristically composed: 'I need to find out how it all ended… and I need to know that you're safe.'

'Me?' Now Nigel was confused as well as infuriated. 'You've paid no attention to anything I've done for the previous decade. I've been all over the world with Syd… and in danger more times than you could ever imagine!'

'I worried about you…'

'No you didn't. And why should you? I'm a grown man!'

Preston shrugged, conceding to himself that, most of the time, he didn't worry too much about Nigel. However, he was inexplicably uncomfortable with the thought of his brother going to India in pursuit of this particular relic, even in the capable company of Sydney.

'Okay, I admit, I haven't followed your career too closely, but you've hardly been breathing down my neck, either, have you? And…and, this is different.' He climbed out of the car, passport in hand, and appealed to Sydney. 'I've got an….oh, what do you yanks call it? A hunch?' Sydney nodded, compulsively intrigued. 'Yes, a hunch. I'm really worried that something might happen to Nigel, and that _I_ ought to be there.'

'You can come,' said Sydney, ignoring Nigel's noisy huff. 'But you'd better tow the line this time. No backstabbing or secret deals.'

'Of course not!' Preston appropriated an innocent expression. 'I'll be completely straight with you _both_. Thank you.'

'No problem,' said Sydney, hoping she was making the right decision. 'Let's go sort out some tickets and do some duty-free shopping. I need some dry clothes before I can face another 12 hour flight!'

Nigel was far from pleased, and stormed off in the pretence of getting a parking ticket. 'Preston looking out for me?' he seethed to himself. 'There's a joke! Complete goddamn strangers have helped me out far more my own, sodding brother!'

……………………………

_**1875: S.S.Euripides, somewhere off the northeastern coast of Africa.**_

_The passenger's mess was cramped, hot, and, above all, noisy. Two dozen people were cramped in together, mainly British soldiers returning to their regiments in India after leave and various traders of all nationalities. Most were playing cards, smoking, and drinking rum._

_As Dirk paused in the doorway to take stock, Nigel peeped over his shoulder. He spotted his jacket lying on the bench, not apparently in anybody's possession._

'_That's it!' _

'_Go get it then,' suggested Dirk._

'_I will!' _

_Nigel indignantly pushed past his friend and made straight for the bench. _

_His progress was impeded when a meaty fist emerged from nowhere, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him in a totally different direction from that which he'd intended. He found himself eye-to-eye with a purple-faced and particularly weighty soldier, his feet dangling some inches above the ground. _

'_Oi! What do you think you're doing?'_

_Nigel panicked. 'Nothing!'_

'_Yeah? Looks to me like you were thieving my jacket, runt.' _

'_It isn't your jacket!' ventured Nigel, bravery fuelled by a sense of injustice. 'It's mine. It clearly wouldn't fit you.' _

_The soldier paid little attention to this logical point, and instead ground his teeth predatorily and tightened his grip on Nigel's collar._

'_Put down the puppy and give him his jacket back,' said Captain Lloyd, matter-of-factly. 'I'll buy you some rum.'_

'_Eh?' The soldier, who had been considering exactly what kind of 'fun' to have with Nigel first, glanced jerkily sideways. Lloyd's fist impacted on his nose with a sickening crunch. He relinquished his quarry, grabbing at his bleeding face with an agonised grunt. Nigel stumbled backwards in the direction of the bench, steadied himself and grabbed his jacket. He began rifling urgently through the pockets._

'_A good soldier makes split-second decisions,' said Dirk. He indicated with a satisfied nod to the retreating thug. 'He's not a good soldier!' He turned to Nigel with a grin. 'That wasn't too hard, now was it? I'm almost disappointed.'_

_Nigel, however, looked more desolate than ever: 'I can't find it! It's gone!'_

'_What has?'_

_Nigel slumped down on the bench and buried his head in his hands. 'There was a ruby in the pocket of the jacket. I made a promise - to a lady - to keep it safe.'_

_Lloyd whistled. 'A ruby? You're full of surprises, aren't you? How much was it worth?'_

'_I don't know,' replied Nigel, his voice muffled. 'But it was too much for my brother to resist! That's why I came on this ship… to return it safely to India and its rightful owner, as the lady desired. Now I've led her down.'_

_Lloyd sat down on the bench and took a swig of his whisky. 'I'm sorry to hear that. A ruby is going to be much tougher to get back than your jacket.' _

_Nigel looked up earnestly. 'I've got to try. Please help me… my money is gone too, but when we get to India I'll write to the lady… she'll pay you, I promise.' _

_Captain Lloyd mulled all of this over. 'Are you in love with her?'_

'_No!'_

'_Then why all the bother?'_

_Nigel sighed. 'If you met her, you'd understand. She is most amazing woman I've ever met. She is beautiful, intelligent, funny… she's been everywhere, and she knows everything and she fights like a man. Better than a man!'_

'_Yeah? Sounds like quite a wench.' He handed Nigel the whisky._

_Nigel took a large gulp. 'She's amazing… but I doubt she'll want to know me after this.'_

'_We'll see.' As Nigel dejectedly downed another mouthful of liquor, Lloyd scanned the room with intent. He knew this kind of scum. He was quite aware that anything of value that entered into their arena would be swiftly finding its way into the hands of fastest, most skilled, and least drunk gamblers. _

_Nigel was about to take another gulp of the whisky, but Dirk pried it away from his grip. Nigel looked even more morose._

'_You can't afford to get inebriated. Look over there!'_

_Dirk indicated to a group of Chinese traders, who were currently playing cards with Browne and Collins, the two soldiers who had initially stolen the jacket._

'_I bet those two losers are staking the ruby now. They won't have a chance against the foreigners.' Dirk winced. 'This isn't going to be easy - the Chinese traders are careful. They won't be half as drunk as the English lads, and they are twice as skilful at fighting and gambling.'_

'_What are we going to do, then?'_

_Dirk smirked. 'We?' Nigel looked pleadingly at him again. 'I suppose I've still got nothing better to do than pick your fights!' He paused for thought. 'I don't fancy taking on all three foreigners in an open fight in here. That leaves us two options. We can steal it back, or we could play them for it.'_

'_I'm very good at Rummy and Pope Joan,' offered Nigel helpfully. 'I used to play with my Aunt Joan. It was all very entertaining, what with her being called Joan, and the game being called Joan, and…oh, maybe I'll save this story.'_

_Dirk gave him a withering look. 'Let's keep that in reserve for now.' _

_On the other side of the room, the Chinese traders roared with elation. The game was over and one of them held up his prize._

'_Aaaaah!' All the present company looked up from their revels and shared in the spectacle as the Diamond Ruby sparkled in the light. Barnes, the jewel gloatingly displayed inches away from his nose, twitched as if he was bracing himself to grab it back. The victor drew a curved dagger from his belt, and leered menacingly. Barnes backed away, as did half a dozen other men with similar, thieving intentions._

'_We need something to stake,' whispered Lloyd. 'I've got this silver whisky flask and a few gold sovereigns. You run back to the cabin and get your travelling bag. There's that book and a few other bits and bobs, aren't there?'_

'_But we could lose everything!'_

'_You want the jewel back…and the beautiful lady?' He nudged Nigel knowingly._

'_Yes… of course.'_

_Dirk handed him his jacket. 'There you are. Put that on, and get your stuff. I'll go and have a chat with the nice gentleman and see what their poison is.' he chuckled. 'Now there's an idea…' _

_Nigel, more bewildered than ever, scuttled off to get his possessions._

…………………………………

_As Nigel stepped through the door on his return to the passengers' mess, another hand grabbed him and pulled him aside. This time, to his relief, it was Dirk Lloyd._

'_What is it?'_

'_I've had a quick word with that drunkard, Collins. He says the traders are playing a Chinese tile game, a variant on Mah-jongg.'_

'_Mama what?'_

'_It doesn't matter. The rules are a bit like, err, Rummy. You need to look for sets and runs, and then shout out stuff in the lingo…kong or pong or ping or something.'_

'_I read a book on Chinese symbols once,' said Nigel, 'I might be able to work out what the images on the tiles mean.'_

_Dirk was surprised. 'That might help…a bit.'_

_He glanced shiftily around, grabbed Nigel again and dragged him out of the door._

_Nigel looked slightly scared. _

'_Listen carefully, soldier,' said Captian Lloyd authoritatively. 'Firstly, we can't let anybody know we're working together. Secondly, you're going to go up onto the deck and open the skylight above where the card table is. And you're going to signal to me which tiles to play.'_

'_But I don't know the rules.'_

'_Neither do I! But we both know Rummy, and you might know the symbols, so we're going to have to learn fast. Give me the bag.'_

_Nigel extracted his book before handing his travel back to Lloyd. 'I think I'll keep this.'_

_Lloyd snatched it away and put it back in the bag. 'No you won't! And don't give me any sentimental crap about your Papa giving it to you. This whisky flask was my grandfather's. I'm supposing that you've got plenty of family heirlooms, rich boy. For me, this is it!'_

'_Why are you risking it, then?'_

_Lloyd shrugged. 'God knows! I've killed many men, but I guess I haven't made too many friends in this world…besides, despite all my better instincts, I don't hate you as much as I ought to, even if you are a milk-sop puppy!'_

_Nigel grinned. 'That's one of the nicest things anybody's ever said to me. Such affection! I almost don't hate you either, you gutter-dwelling, uncouth blockhead.'_

_Dirk beamed, and gave Nigel a pat on the back that nearly sent him flying. They both took a final swig of the whisky, and set to work._

………………………

_**1875: R.M.S Hellenic (White Star Line) one days' sail from Boston**_

'_Will you ladies please excuse me?'_

_After a sixth tedious round of Rummy with a set of suffocatingly dull first-class passengers, Sydney rose from her seat. She was rather tempted to liven up the evening by cracking the table over her playmates neatly sculpted hairdos. _

'_Oh, Miss Carraway!' simpered the millionaire heiress, Miss Hortensia Howling. 'Do stay for another game. You must give us the chance to win our pin money back!'_

'_Oh don't worry,' replied Sydney, 'I'll give it to the orphans of Cherbourg when we get there, just as your mother wished.' _

'_Even if they're not deserving?' exclaimed Lady Howling. 'Heavens, be careful, Miss Carraway!' Hortensia's mother always preached a great deal about her intended acts of charity but, in truth, she found the 'lower orders' dirty, smelly and generally unappealing. When she deigned to visit the orphanages and hospitals, her 'pin money' usually stayed in her pocket. _

_Sydney's smile manifested itself as a lip-curling grimace over clenched teeth. 'I need some air!' She ran off through the gaming-room of the floating palace, weaving through the maze of comatose card-players. The sheet music on the stands of the string quartet fluttered in her wake. She burst out of the double doors onto the deck, and tore down several levels until she was halted by the stern._

_She leaned right over the railings, watching the great propellers cut their way through the cold, jet-black waters of the North Atlantic._

'_Faster,' she willed them. 'Faster, faster!' _

_She pulled her travel itinerary from her purse. Although an intrepid adventuress, time had never been of such essence to her before. She had derived her current schedule from segments of one of her favourite, recent novels: Jules Verne's, 'Around the world in 80 Days.' Even Phileas Fogg's hasty agenda, however, still seemed desperately slow._

_Sydney barely needed to look at the paper: she now knew the route off by heart:_

_From Boston to Paris via port of Cherbourg, by steamer and rail…7 days._

_From Paris to Suez via Mont Cenis and Brindisi, by rail and steamboats ... 7 days_

_From Suez to Bombay, by steamer ... 13 days_

_From Bombay to Calcutta, by rail ... 3 days_

' _Damn,' she thought. 'Over a month! It's too slow! Poor Nigel, I wonder where he is now?' She couldn't bear to think of him on a rickety, comfortless tea clipper, alone, unprotected and probably ill. A nigh murderous anger surged in her stomach at the thought of De Veleye – cold-eyed and hard-hearted - hunting Nigel down in Calcutta. _

_Sydney Carraway gazed into the icy blackness and made a vow to an all-malicious God: if anything terrible happened to Nigel, she would hunt De Veleye down and reap her revenge - in this life, or the next. _

………………………………

_**1875: S.S. Euripides, somewhere off the northeastern coast of Africa.**_

_Nigel Finchley sloped nonchalantly onto the deck, pretending to be 'taking the air' and avoiding eye contact with the many drunken, and not-so-drunken sailors. The sun was just setting - a vibrant splash of pink in the west - but it was still very warm. _

'_I wonder how many thousand miles from home I am now?' he mused. 'I suppose we must be approaching the tropics.' _

_There were many trapdoors and openings in the deck, and he had to surreptitiously peep under a few before he found the right one. _

_Prying it open, he found he was, indeed, just above the gaming table. He had a good view of the players and could just about make out the symbols on the tiles if he strained his eyes. The players, including Captain Lloyd, were forming the tiles into a four square wall._

_As the dealing began, he caught Dirk's eye, and gave a little wave. The soldier raised his eyebrows in a loaded manner, although Nigel hadn't a clue what it was supposed to convey. _

_From his knowledge of Rummy, Nigel guessed that Dirk had not got a good hand. While his opponents appeared to have runs of funny shaped bamboo sticks, decorated circles, and plenty of elaborate looking tiles with flowers and dragons on them – which Nigel knew represented the winds of the north, south, east and west - none of his ally's tiles looked very interesting or seemed to match each other._

_Dirk glanced up at him, nonplussed._

_Nigel pursed his lips, conveying concentration and encouragement, despite his utter lack of hope._

'_Go!' The first three traders played their hands so quickly that Dirk had not yet finished arranging his tiles before it was his turn._

_Nigel pointed at Dirk's single Dragon tile, and mouthed: 'Don't play that.'_

_Dirk understood it as 'play that' and promptly surrendered the tile in the middle of the square. _

'_Pung!' As Nigel has predicted, relinquishing the Dragon meant that one of their opponents had made a run already._

_The round speeded back to Dirk, who, losing his faith in his partner's advice, went to play what Nigel could see was the worst of several terrible possibilities._

_Nigel waved his hands about desperately to stop him, but it was too late. Dirk glanced conspicuously up at his frantic motions._

'_What you looking at?' demanded one of the traders. 'Is somebody up there?'_

'_Are you accusing me of cheating?' Dirk rose haughtily to his feet: he had to have more chance at fisticuffs than in playing this impossible game!_

_Nigel flung himself out of sight only to collide with a large pair of brown boots and a pair of legs like tree-trunks. _

'_Oi! What you doing?' _

_Everything happened at once. Dirk levied an opening blow, as one of the traders extracted his knife and another picked up an empty rum bottle to make a slash at the soldier. Nigel, in mortal fear of being seized by the collar for the fourth time in under an hour, squeaked something about 'looking for the billiards room', and jumped to his feet. Nearly whacking into yet another shifty-looking seadog, he forgot everything about the skylight and took a hesitant step backwards. He fell straight through onto the gaming table below._

_Crack!_ _The table split in two. Tiles and gin flew everywhere._

'_Ooof!' Nigel had no time to worry about being dazed or hurt. He spied the glint of red from the shimmering object that rolled off across the floor._

'_The ruby!' He launched himself forward, oblivious to the hurricane of pandemonium that was blowing up about him. _

_Unshaken, Dirk punched out the lights of one of the traders. The one with the knife plunged forward at him, and they began rolling across the floor, locked in a deadly struggle._

_Nigel's fingers were just inches from the ruby, when it was sent flying away from him, kicked by the boot of one of the scrapping Chinese traders._

'_Damn!' He charged after it, only to come face-to-face with in the Neanderthal who had stolen his jacket earlier, his nose bruised and swollen._

'_Oi! Runt! I want my jacket!'_

_In the corner of his eye, Nigel saw his ruby being picked up by Collins._

'_Oh for heavens sake! I don't have time for this now - it wouldn't fit you!' With that, he applied his left fist to his unprepared assailants already injured nose, picked up a small bench and whacked Collins over the head with it. _

_He caught the ruby as it plummeted from the hand of the crumpling thief to the floor._

'_Yes!' _

_His triumph seemingly complete, Nigel ducked under a table to get his breath back. His heart racing, he inhaled deeply, and glanced across the room to see that Dirk was still grappling with the three Chinese traders, although he appeared to be receiving help from the unlikely source of Private Barnes._

'_Damn,' thought Nigel. 'I really ought to help.'_

_He slipped the Ruby in his pocket and dragged himself to his feet. Feeling much more tired than previously, he was sure he couldn't again muster the strength to wallop anybody with a bench: that had been achieved through pure adrenalin. Catching sight of his deserted, black travelling bag, another idea struck him._

_He pulled out 'The Fortunes of Nigel' and climbed onto a table. Seizing the element of surprise, he whacked all three over the head with the book in turn. It wasn't enough to knock them all out, but certainly incapacitated them sufficiently for Dirk and Barnes to finish the job._

'_Good work!' shouted Captain Lloyd. 'We'll make a soldier of you yet!'_

'_I'd rather you didn't,' puffed Nigel, who was now experiencing some rather unpleasant sensations. Either the waves had suddenly started rolling the ship much more violently, or the world had begun spinning faster for some other reason - much as it had a few nights before. Clutching his beloved book tight to his chest, he went bright pink in the face and collapsed on the table in a barely conscious heap._

……………………………………………

**21st century: Heathrow airport.**

Sydney, having changed into some dry clothes, found Nigel sitting on a waiting lounge bench. He was staring in an unfocused manner at the little leather novel he had retrieved from the chest at Finchley Hall. His mood was not a light one.

'Where's Preston?' she asked.

Nigel jumped; he had been deeply lost in disturbing and unusually incoherent thoughts. 'He's gone to buy some new clothes - something which makes him look slightly less of a total ass, I hope. If that's possible… ' Sydney breathed deeply as she sat down beside him. 'Why did you let him come?' he continued. 'He's never any help, and you didn't honestly buy all that stuff about…about me? He doesn't give a toss.'

Sydney kicked into counselling mode. Having scraped her hair back into a high bun after she'd dressed, like she often did to lecture, she looked and sounded like sympathetic schoolteacher: 'I think you will find he does care - he's just not very good at showing it. It seems that the little we've found about Nigel and Preston Finchley has made him think about your relationship in a whole new light. That's why I let him tag along.'

'Oh, come on! Do you really think that Preston, after all these years, is going to start looking out for me? Besides, if we're in danger, he is hardly going to be the one pulling us back from the brink… I might not be the bravest man in the business, but compared to Preston, I'm like Indiana Jones!'

Sydney laughed, and instantly assumed a more casual air, patting him affectionately on the thigh. 'Well, Doctor Jones, you're going to have to be brave and put up with your brother for the next few days. He might surprise you. He might surprise us both!'

'Maybe,' muttered Nigel, and stared intently again at his book, his eyes still unfocused on the words. After a moment, he looked up again:

'I was just wondering, Syd, why haven't we called the authorities? I'm sure Interpol would love to know Deviega is heading for Meerutan?'

'We don't know for sure he's heading there. He might be heading for the museum, like us.'

'All the more reason to call them! Interpol have followed up on _much_ weaker leads.' He looked her straight in the eye. 'It's Deviega, isn't it? He always rattles you…'

Sydney frowned at her assistant. 'He doesn't 'rattle' me. Have you ever seen me lose control?'

'No…but with him you're the closest I've ever seen you to it. Why were you so reluctant to stop Molly going after him?'

'Who am I to stop a woman on a mission?'

'Usually you look out for people we meet on hunts… even when they don't deserve it. But you practically told her to go gunning for him when you should've told her to walk away!'

Sydney was tight-lipped. She glowered at her assistant, but had to admit that he'd hit an element of truth. Deviega _did_ screw her up: she wasn't a killer, but she wanted to see him dead. He'd set into motion too many turbulent streams of events, which now flooded over more centuries that she'd ever imagined.

Her silence tricked Nigel into letting slip more than he intended: 'Deviega gets under your skin in a way that nobody else does… it scares me. _You_ scare me!'

Syd snapped. 'What is this? An excuse for you to call Cate? Do it then. Go on, call her now. Tell her everything and let's see if _they_ can catch him.'

'I will!' Nigel reached for his phone, and then hesitated. 'If you really think that's what's best?'

Sydney laughed tiredly. Nigel was never harsh with her for long; sometimes she feared he trusted her too much. 'Yeah, I think so Nigel. Sorry I yelled, I guess… it's been a long day.'

Nigel made the call quickly, and his words with Cate were friendly but somewhat strained. When he finished, he turned to Sydney and smiled sheepishly.

Her hand, with comforting intentions, wandered back onto his thigh. 'How was Cate?'

'Fine…good!' replied Nigel, suddenly acutely aware of the intimacy of her touch. 'She said she'd get her people onto it.'

'Anything else?'

'No…' said Nigel quietly. He looked her straight in the eye, his hand floating almost imperceptible over her fingers. 'There isn't anything else.'

The first call for their flight to Calcutta came blaring over the intercom.

Nigel shifted awkwardly, and Syd felt his body tense. 'This is us…God, I hope Preston is back soon. I just want to get onto this flight… get it over and done with.' He folded his arms around himself, and looked visibly nervous.

'Hey,' Sydney shifted her hand to his shoulder. 'What's wrong? I've never known you to be worried about a flight before?'

'I'm not.' Sydney's deep brown eyes asked an anxious question, and he couldn't help but reply. 'Well, it's not the flight. It's – oh, I don't know – it's the idea of travelling from…London to Calcutta. It's not the place as such - I love India - or the flight, but the journey and the uncertainty ahead. For some reason, I'm imagining I'm a ruddy hobbit setting off to Mordor with the One Ring… but that I'm never coming back to the shire again!' He cringed. 'God, that was corny.'

Sydney couldn't help giggling. 'Don't worry, Nigel. I'll make sure that we get back to Hobbiton in one piece.'

Nigel smiled wanly and thought to himself: 'Yes, but who's going to get you back in one piece, with Deviega out there setting his dirty traps?' He wanted to say 'I've got a bad feeling about this', but that would have been just _too_ tacky.

At that moment, Preston arrived, dressed in a smart, new linen suit and carrying a tartan travel bag he had just purchased, duty-free. He looked very pleased with himself.

'What's wrong with him?' the elder Bailey asked, noting that Nigel looked particularly off-colour. 'He can't be travelsick yet! We've not even boarded the bloody plane.'

'I'm fine, thank you very much!' said Nigel, mustering a cheerless energy, grabbing his bag and jumping up. 'Come on, let's go.'

He marched off towards the departure lounge, with Sydney and Preston following at a more moderate pace.

'Did I ever tell you about the first time we took the Nigel on a cross-channel ferry? Folkstone-Boulogne it was. He was only seven…it barely took an hour and a half, but he ate a whole Mars bar before we left and was as sick as a…'

Sydney raised a silencing hand with such air-slicing speed that Preston stopped mid-sentence, scared he was about to be slapped. She turned to him, noting the appropriate fear in his wide, blue eyes.

'Shut up, Preston,' she smiled aggressively. 'I really, _really_ don't want to hear it!

**THANKS FOR READING. **

**PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW – I'D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING ABOUT THIS STORY! I APPRECIATE ALL COMMENTS. Katy xx.**


	11. Part ten: In between

Disclaimers: Don't own R.H.

Thanks for the reviews.

_**1875: S.S. Euripides, somewhere off the western coast of Africa.**_

_In the hours following the 'mah-jongg incident,' all Nigel could sense were flickering lights, the violent undulation of the waves, and the painful, thudding and faltering beat of his heart. _

_He saw faces - mainly angry, frighteningly unfamiliar - but he couldn't speak to them, he could hardly breathe. As his vision faded, a notion seeped into his fevered consciousness that the ship had sunk and he was falling to the bottom of the sea: down, down, down. He thrashed his arms hopelessly, trying to swim, striving for sweet air, yet hands that seized him, didn't save him. They just pushed him further away, deeper into the suffocating ocean._

_One horrific concept began swirling in his mind: 'hell…this is hell… I'm dead, and this is hell… all pain… no air… no comfort…hell.'_

_Eventually, the lights faded and the wrenching thrust of the movements became a gentle rocking, and then merciful, peaceful sleep._

_When Nigel awoke, all was black. His first thought was a panic: 'I'm dead…I'm dead…' Then he realised he still felt the incessant swelling of the waves, that he was small, sick and weak, but alive. Death couldn't be so wretched._

'_Hey…Nigel? You with me?'_

_The voice was deep and close, hovering just inches above him. He felt a warm hand take his wrist, and feel his pulse._

'_Captain Lloyd?'_

'_Yes, my friend, I'm afraid it is. It's not your Mama, or Sydney, or any of the other half dozen names you've been calling for!'_

_It occurred to Nigel that he wasn't in his bunk, and that part of his general discomfort was owing to the fact he was lying on floorboards, although he had a nasty suspicion that his upper body was rested in the Captain's arms. He felt slightly awkward, and wondered why on earth he wasn't in his bed._

'_Umm… where are we? Why is it so dark?'_

'_Ah. I'm afraid I've got some bad news, matey. We're in the brig. There are not too many windows down here.'_

'_Oh,' was all Nigel could manage. His memory was too lost in a fevered hinterland between sleep and consciousness for him to remember exactly what he had done wrong. _

'_It's probably the best place for us,' said Dirk, matter-of-factly. 'Well, it would have been, if you hadn't nearly died on me last night. Has that happened before?'_

'_What happened?' _

'_First up, you and I - mainly me, seeing as you were not exactly 'with us' at the time - were accused of cheating at mah-jongg. Then we got hauled off here. They were going to take you to sickbay, but I couldn't think of a way to take the Ruby back off you without it being noticed. I decided it would be better to say you were drunk and have you dumped in here with me, so there would be no chance it would be stolen again. But I didn't realise how sick you were.'_

_Nigel recalled the mah-jongg incident and felt into the top pocket of his jacket, where he vaguely remembered slipping the Ruby as the world fell apart. It was still there, safe._

'_I'm not ill,' he murmured , exerting himself considerably to sit up. Dirk let him go, but unusually heavy gravity pulled Nigel back down onto the hard floorboards. 'I just get these 'turns' sometime.'_

'_That's what you call it, is it? One moment your heart was pounding like the Queen's artillery regiment…then I thought it was stopping altogether. How the hell did you get through the Army medical?'_

'_I haven't a clue,' replied Nigel vacantly. 'It was a while back, I suppose, just after I came back from Oxford. Life was a little less… exciting then.'_

'_Well, they missed something. When we get to India, I'm going to recommend to your commanding officer that he sends you straight back home.' _

'_What? You can't do that…Anyway, I have no intention of joining my regiment before I return this ruby to its rightful protectors.'_

'_You're a determined little sod, aren't you?'_

'_Yes… I suppose I am.' He squirmed uncomfortably. 'It's very hot in here… maybe I have a fever or something.'_

'_No, that's one thing you don't seem to have wrong with you. It's simply hot. We're approaching the equator, I should think. I'll start shouting and yelling in a minute, make sure they bring us more water.'_

'_Aren't they going to let us out of here?' _

_Dirk sniggered. 'Actually, I'd rather they didn't. The moment we get out, the Chinese traders and every passenger on board is going to be on our backs, after that ruby. I slipped the Captain a couple of gold sovereigns, and he promised to send along some supplies to make the voyage more comfortable. Not that the service has been first-class so far. They promised me a mattress for you a couple of hours ago … it never came. I'd better shout louder this time.'_

'_So we're stuck here?' Nigel was desolate. It was bad enough when he had access to a moderately comfortable bunk and the fresh air of the deck, but stuck in this hot prison, the waves seemed to rise and fall all the more steeply. Moreover, he realised they were heading fast towards the notoriously choppy Cape of Good Hope. 'Oh hell,' he groaned and raised his hands to cover his face._

'_Sorry, my friend,' said Dirk, 'maybe I could stay in here with the ruby, and you could go to sickbay?'_

'_No… I couldn't ask you to do that. If you stay, I stay.' Besides, he thought himself: 'I don't fancy my chances out there anyway, without my only friend.'_

_Nigel sighed, and rolled onto his side, trying in vain to make himself comfortable. The warmth and humidity were becoming insufferable, and even his ever-increasing nausea could not blot out the dull, persistent tightness in his chest. 'This is hell,' he breathed, so quietly he knew his companion couldn't hear. 'Hell.'_

……………………………………

**21st century: Flight 107 - London Heathrow to Calcutta.**

After their eventful day, Nigel and Sydney both fell asleep quickly after the flight took off. Nigel, particularly, discovered he was far more weary than usual on a plane, and that the lights and sounds barely distracted him as he drifted off.

Preston, far less used to travel, didn't feel tired at all. He became particularly resolved to stay awake once he realised the in-flight movie featured Kate Winslet, and had not yet come out in UK cinemas. There was no point sleeping when he could be drinking in the sights and sounds of the lovely Kate!

He was about halfway through the movie when he sensed that Nigel, although he appeared to be asleep, was restless. Indeed, his brother was shifting about in his seat so much that the whole row of three shook. Preston could barely focus on his favourite bits of Kate, displayed in front of him on the little movie screen.

The final straw came when Nigel began muttering under his breath.

Preston, now thoroughly irritated, took off his headphones.

'Nigel, for God's sake, stop it!' he hissed. 'You're embarrassing me, just like that time…'

He broke off, as he absorbed the condition of his brother. 'Help!' he thought. 'That must be one hell of a bad dream.'

Nigel's face was flushed, and his forehead beaded with sweat, as he shifted, distractedly, from side to side. His hand was clutched to his chest, his fist clenched as if he was holding something. His breath was fast and shallow. 'Miss Carraway,' he whispered, 'I wanted to keep it safe… but I'm drowning….drowning…. this is hell…hell…'

Preston had heard enough. 'Nigel!' He patted his brother lightly on the cheek. 'Come on mate, wake up,' he said softly. 'It's just a dream…'

'Derek?' Nigel's eyes flew open, and he grabbed a long, ragged intake of air, as if he'd been struggling underwater and had surfaced in the nick of time.

'Who the hell's Derek? It's me, Preston.'

Registering this, Nigel flung his arms around his brother's neck and buried his face in his shoulder. Preston instinctively hugged Nigel tightly. He felt the pounding, yet strong and steady, beat of his brother's heart.

Preston, somewhat taken aback, smiled apologetically at a woman in a seat in front, who peeked backwards to see what all the fuss was about. 'He's my brother,' he explained, in case of any misunderstanding. 'He's a bit unstable,' he mouthed.

The commotion also stirred Sydney, who opened her eyes to greet the unlikely vista of the Bailey brothers engaged in an affectionate embrace.

She gawped for a second, convinced she was dreaming, and then realised it was, indeed, reality. Preston gazed at her over Nigel's head with bewildered blue eyes.

'What the heck's wrong? Nigel?'

Her voice dragged her assistant back from the twilight world between wakefulness and the abyss of nightmares. He pulled away from Preston, decidedly embarrassed.

'Sorry,' he mumbled. 'I had a bad dream. Terribly bad manners… how humiliating.'

'Hey, it's okay.' Sydney slipped an arm around his shoulder. 'It's nothing to be ashamed about. Was it very real?'

'No… quite the opposite, just images, feelings… I felt like I was drowning… and a strange, stomach-churning motion. Did the plane hit any turbulence?'

Sydney shrugged. 'I've no idea. I was out for the count.' She looked quizzically at Preston, who was now regarding Nigel, nonplussed.

'There certainly wasn't any turbulence before _he_ started thrashing around. Why do you always have to make a scene, Nigel? And who, may I ask, is Derek?'

'Derek Lloyd?' Sydney raised her eyebrows.

'Oh God,' Nigel covered his face with both his hands. 'I don't normally dream about Derek Lloyd, okay?' He caught a glimpse of Kate Winslet, jiggling about in period costume on Preston's cinema screen. 'If I had a choice, people in my dreams would look more like _that_, okay? Don't be getting any wrong ideas.' A thought hit him and he added quickly: 'Although I like brunettes as well, you know?'

'I know,' said Sydney, with a laugh. She rubbed his arm, returning to the serious point: 'Do you think the nightmare had anything to do with your past life, and the Ruby.'

'I'm not sure,' said Nigel slowly. He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'Maybe it will make more sense later… I know this sounds crazy, but it definitely felt like I was at sea.'

'Nigel Finchley must have sailed to India,' said Syd. 'I'm just wondering how the hell Derek Lloyd got mixed up in all of this.'

Nigel looked up and cringed. 'My mind could have just been playing tricks on me... can we forget about that particular detail for now, please? God, I am seriously starting to think that we've stirred up things that are best left forgotten.'

Sydney smiled sympathetically. 'I'm sorry it's upsetting you. But we've come so far… and aren't you just a little curious about what happened to Nigel Finchley? I'm dying to find out more about Sydney Carraway. I think she's started…getting into my head. When Deviega left us, I shouted after him something about 'taking a pound of flesh' off him. I know my Shakespeare, but I've never quoted it at bad guys before! It strikes me as something that Sydney Carraway might say, though! Amazing, huh?'

'Amazing,' echoed Nigel, sounding tired. '_I_ get bad dream's, _you_ get Shakespearean one-liners.'

Sydney grimaced. 'I'm sorry, Nigel. That nightmare didn't sound fun. But I'm sure there was more to Miss Carraway than historical quotes…' She shut her eyes and inhaled contentedly. 'Every time I think of her, I detect an irrepressible energy, but also…something else, something deeper.' Her mood darkened. 'Maybe it was her need for vengeance…'

'On whom?' asked Nigel.

'Who do you think,' growled Sydney,

Nigel stared at her blankly: 'I _really_ need a drink '

'Me too,' said Preston, and summoned over the hostess who conjured up some little bottles of red wine. 'Want a glass, Sydney?'

'No, I'm fine,' she replied, settling back in her seat as the men proceeded to drown their sorrows in the pleasant befuddlement of alcohol. She needed to keep her mind clear: there was now more than just a relic to seek in India. She deeply desired to know the secrets of her past, _and_ of her hated nemesis. The prospect that Derek Lloyd could also be embroiled intrigued her ever more.

…………………….

**_1875: S.S. Euripides, Indian Ocean._**

_For Nigel Finchley, the remaining minutes, hours and days of the voyage to India merged into an indeterminate purgatory, lying on a threadbare blanket on the wooden floorboards. His will to live was maintained, however, by Dirk's exciting stories of hairbreadth escapes in the midst of battle, encounters with marauding lions and tigers, and of uneasy entanglements with beautiful maidens, from one side of the Empire to the other. Nigel couldn't help enjoying himself a little: the stories transported him to a dream world of adventure and romance – in which loomed ever-present imaginings of Sydney Carraway, always ready to spiral into a swift, high-kick against a villain's head. It was a lifetime away from his present bodily strife. _

'_Do you ever do anything that doesn't involve shooting Russians, hijacking elephants and scaring native ladies?' asked Nigel one day, after a lengthy account of an adventure that Dirk had enjoyed when barely seventeen years old, in the Baltic Far East._

'_Of course I do!' retorted Dirk, slightly indignant. 'I have hobbies! I collect coins.'_

'_Coins? Really? Do you have any ancient ones?'_

'_I expect so,' said Dirk. 'I picked up some interesting pieces on the Ionian Islands once. Maybe you could look at them for me, one day. I have difficulty dating them.'_

'_I'd like that,' replied Nigel. His mind floated back to Dirk's more 'exciting' pass-times._

'_You should write a book about your life,' he suggested. 'Although it might be a little shocking…'_

'_Do I shock you? That was the tame version. But I'm not going to be writing any books. Whatever would I do that for?'_

'_For history,' suggested Nigel. 'In a hundred years from now, all that will be left is boring army records written by stuffed-shirt generals and admirals. I bet what people will really want to know is the life and times of Yorkshire's own Captain Dirk Lloyd of the 45th Regiment of foot.'_

'_Do you think they'll want to know what I got up to in that Inn in Jamaica?'_

_If the light hadn't been so dim, Dirk would have seen Nigel blush. 'Err, maybe. Perhaps you should keep back a few of the details…'_

'_I did, my friend!' Dirk was pleased. Nigel seemed more coherent than he had been for several days. He decided that his young friend was up to answering a burning question._

'_A while back – I think maybe in your sleep – you mentioned the name De Veleye? Is he a friend of yours?'_

_Nigel nearly choked on the concept. 'A friend? Good God, no! That villain is the main reason I'm here. He's the one who took the Ruby in the first place: I'm returning it before he can steal it back.' He reached across to where his jacket lay, the ruby still tucked in its inside pocket. He let the reassuringly cool and solid stone slip into his hand._

'_He isn't a friend of yours is he?'_

'_Nah. Quite the opposite.'_

_Nigel sighed with relief. 'My brother owes De Veleye money. Once Preston knew about the Ruby, I was sure I couldn't keep it safe in England. He's a bit…umm, weak willed, you see? If De Veleye bullied him, he'd give in… so I had to leave. How do you know De Veleye? '_

'_A couple of years ago, everyone in my regiment knew De Veleye. We were barracked near a small town named Meerutan. He brought wine, women, song… and gambling. Then he made every young soldier pay, by taking their last shilling and, sometimes, even their blood… he ruined many and nobody cared.' Dirk glowered in the dark. 'Then he drove the General's son to take his own life in sheer desperation. Finally the powers-that-be took note of his crimes. De Veleye fled an arrest warrant, before the General locked him up for good.'_

'_All this happened in Meerutan? That's where I'm heading! I believe he took the Ruby from a young Indian man there, driving him to desperation like the soldiers. Meena – the young lady I am returning the Ruby to - is his sister.'_

_There was a suggestive silence._

'_Meena from Meerutan, eh? Sounds like a pretty wench.' Dirk smiled, and then continued in a businesslike fashion: 'If De Veleye puts one foot in India with the knowledge of the military police, they would lock him up for the rest of his days. Is there any chance he followed you?' _

'_I hope not. Unless Preston couldn't keep quiet about Ruby...'_

'_Your brother might have talked? I think I'd best tell the authorities in Calcutta to be on the lookout.' _

_The boat hit a particularly steep swell of waves, and the boat pitched swiftly from one side to the other. Nigel groaned piteously and rolled onto his side. _

_Dirk shifted closer and patted his back, a chummy gesture of encouragement: 'when did you last eat, my friend?'_

'_I can't face it,' wailed Nigel, 'I'll be sick! But I had some biscuits yesterday when we hit that calm…'_

_Dirk sighed. 'You can't make the journey to Meerutan in this state. It's a long trek, you know? The train doesn't go all the way. You'll have to ride across deserts and plains, maybe travel by elephant. '_

'_Elephant? I've always wanted to see a real elephant! I saw one at an exhibition when I was young, but that didn't count because it was stuffed… but anyway, I have to go to Meerutan.'_

'_It's a good job my leave is not up until next month, eh?'_

'_Why?' Nigel shifted slightly to face his friend in the dim light. 'Where are you going?'_

'_Nowhere at first. We'll take rooms in Calcutta, until you're well, but then… I believe I've got a pressing appointment in Meerutan.'_

'_Meerutan?' Nigel managed a cheeky smile. 'Thank you. For an uncouth blockhead, you're awfully congenial. You're surprisingly helpful and almost well mannered.'_

'_Nah, I'm not,' sniggered Dirk. 'And don't be imagining I'm going the best part of 1000 miles out of my way just for an irritating, milk-sop puppy who, may I add, can't take his liquor. You've reminded me that I've got my own, unfinished business there.'_

………………………………………

**Present-day: Calcutta.**

It was 2am local time when Sydney and Nigel arrived at the airport in Calcutta. Sydney was keen to get straight on with the hunt, but they were delayed by the strange disappearance of Preston's new tartan travel bag.

'Could it have been lost at Heathrow?' suggested Nigel.

'I think it's been stolen!' shouted Preston, accusingly. 'I should have known this would happen. You attract crime and danger these days, Nigel, and _I_ always seem to have to pay!'

'I didn't _ask_ you to come, Preston. In fact, I didn't even _want_ you to come…'

At this moment they were joined by Sydney, who had been speaking to Saritha on her mobile phone as the men waited about for the luggage.

'Preston's bag has been lost,' said Nigel promptly.

'Stolen!' interjected Preston.

Sydney frowned. 'Stolen, huh? Did anybody else on the flight get their luggage stolen?'

'I asked the security staff, and they said it was just mine. It's most mysterious!'

Sydney's expression sharpened. 'I wonder…if Deviega knows we've escaped, he'll be trying to delay us, maybe even trailing us. We'd better get moving.'

'I told you so!' said Preston to Nigel haughtily. 'I _knew_ it was to do with your entourage of hardened criminals!' Nigel just scowled at him.

Just then, a flustered airport security guard dashed up. He was carrying a tartan travelling bag. 'Mr Bailey?' he puffed. 'Is this your luggage?'

'It is!' Preston grabbed the bag and rummaged through the contents. 'Nothing seems to be missing.' He looked up at the breathless airport worker. 'Thank you. Where did you find it?'

'It just turned up on the conveyer belt. Maybe somebody picked it up accidentally, thinking it was theirs, then guiltily sneaked it back when they realised it wasn't. It happens, you know?'

'Does it? Oh well.' Preston was just pleased to have his stuff back.

'That's _that_ sorted,' snapped Nigel. 'I knew you were whining about nothing.' He turned to Sydney, who was still eyeing the bag suspiciously. 'I guess we'd better check into a hotel before it's too late. I'm starving. I hope somewhere's still serving meals.'

'Nope,' said Sydney, her mind snapping back to the issue in hand. 'We won't need a hotel tonight. Saritha's been doing a bit of digging and has located several unopened boxes of Sydney Carraway's papers. She's waiting for us at the Museum. What's more, she says Meerutan is only about fifteen miles from the cave where we sought the jewel originally – but in the opposite direction from the hotel we stayed at then. Everything is coming together just great.'

'Lovely,' said Nigel, doing his best to muster enthusiasm. 'I've gone off sleep for now anyway.'

He followed Sydney from the arrivals lounge, with Preston grumbling several metres behind.

………………………..

Calcutta Museum was an enormous white, stone monument. Domes and pillars soared many storeys up, towards the starry sky. It was reminiscent of the Taj Mahal.

'This place is amazing!' exclaimed Preston. 'It's twice the size of the British Museum.'

'It's wonderful isn't it?' gushed Sydney, who been there before several times to lead seminars. 'The museum is the oldest in the Asia-Pacific region. The collections are just wonderful.' Striding straight past the visitor entrance, she began to make her way along its impressive façade, looking for a way around the back. 'Saritha said a concierge at the staff entrance would let us in. It's not unusual for the academics who research here to work very late.'

'Funny lot!' chuckled Preston, who usually departed his desk dead on five.

Sydney located the staff entrance and knocked. No answer. She tried again. Nothing.

'That's odd,' observed Nigel.

'Yeah… I don't like it,' husked Sydney. 'Something's 'off".

She put her shoulder against the apparently locked and alarmed door, and gave it a shove. It opened instantly: the lock had been broken.

'Something is _definitely_ 'off,'' she whispered. She raised a finger to her lips, and motioned that the others should follow her with a tip of her head. Reaching into her boot, she drew out her knife.

Preston's eyes bulged at the sight, but he skulked into the building behind her, keeping close to Nigel.

Immediately beyond the empty concierge's office, they encountered one of the main galleries of the museum. Even Sydney gasped as she shone her torch directly at two pointed white spears, looming at her from an enormous skeleton, partially cloaked in the gloom.

'My God, what is it?' hissed Nigel, seeing nothing but the vicious looking tusks and backing rapidly behind Sydney. 'It doesn't look very pleased to see us!'

'Don't worry - it's quite dead. I remember it from last time: it's the skeleton of a prehistoric woolly mammoth…. He looked a bit friendlier in the light!'

'I find that hard to believe,' moaned Preston. 'What _are_ we doing breaking and entering again? I bet this woman has gone home to bed like the concierge, and I suggest we all go and find a nice hotel!'

Sydney shook her head rapidly. 'No. Saritha is a dedicated historian.' She glanced around them, all her senses on edge. 'If _she's_ gone, there's real trouble… come on. '

She headed on into the next gallery, which was full of Egyptian mummies, leering at them in the gloom out of vertically displayed coffins.

'I hate it when they do that!' said Nigel, recalling his many bad experiences with skeletons and mummies. Nevertheless, his attention was caught by a beautiful bust of the Egyptian Queen, Nefertiti, which flashed into his torchlight at the end of the room. He couldn't help but trot over for a look, despite the fact that it was near the hated corpses.

'Amazing,' he muttered. 'It's made of limestone – it must date from at least the13th century BC.' He reached into his jacket to bring out his glasses for a closer examination. As he did so, he warily noticed the nasty, bandaged face of one of the mummies was leering distortedly at him, its loose teeth and flaking jaw forming a lopsided, gurning grin.

'Ugly!' thought Nigel, edgily shuffling a few inches sideways. A hand touched lightly on his shoulder.

'Aaaaaargh'

Nigel screamed incriminatingly loudly, forcing a second hand to land itself over his mouth.

'Nigel, it's me!' Sydney removed her hand. 'Stop lagging behind! I think we're being followed… and if we weren't, everybody in the museum is going to know where we are now.' She led her still nervy assistant away. 'Come on, quickly. Saritha's office is this way.'

In the corner of the next gallery, which contained decorated Buddha's and fascinating, carved wooden monuments that, in shape and scale, resembled Stonehenge, was a small door.

'This is it.'

Sydney eased the unlocked door open, and ventured to turn on a light. The room was full of papers: they were scattered all over the desk and floor in disarray, as if the whole place had been turned upside down. There was no sign of Sydney's friend.

'Damn,' cursed Sydney. 'Deviega's beaten us to it. I just hope he hasn't hurt her.'

'Deviega?' whined Nigel in despair. 'Didn't we tell Interpol he might be coming here? They're all bloody useless!'

'For once,' added Preston, 'I agree.'

A small noise, no louder than the squeak of a shoe sole, echoed around in the large gallery behind them. Sydney heard it instantly.

'Stay here,' she hissed.

Brandishing her knife ahead of her, she took cautious steps forward into the darkness.

Nigel shone his torch into the cavernous display room from the doorway of the office, frantically trying to locate the origin of the sound for her.

'Who's there?' snarled Syd. 'Show yourself!'

A shadowy figure - stocky but sturdy - leapt out from behind one of the wooden monoliths, proficiently grabbed Sydney's arms and pinned them roughly behind her. With an expert thrust, she wrenched herself free, flipping her assailant to the ground.

This guy was good: he kicked the knife from her hand and threw himself bodily at her, wrestling her to the floor, seizing both her wrists and pinning her.

Sydney, never defeated, was about to knee her male opponent where it hurt the most, when a ray of torchlight - now directed by Preston - shone across their faces. They both froze in instant recognition.

'Professor Fox! I should've known.'

'You again!'

Nigel, two inches from bashing the attacker over the head with a large, wooden Buddha, recognised the man's voice.

'Derek Lloyd?' he squeaked.

'It most certainly is' said Derek, his grin spreading from ear to ear at the knowledge of who he was lying on top off: 'Pleased to see me, Sydney?'

………………

**Thanks for Reading. Please Review.**


	12. Part eleven: Arrivals

**Disclaimers: Don't own 'em.**

**Thanks for those review. Much appreciated!**

…………………

**21st century: Calcutta Museum**

'Derek Lloyd! What the hell are you doing here?'

Catching the American GI momentarily off-balance, Sydney slipped her hands free, and rolled out from the compromising position she now occupied under him.

'I've been loaned out to Interpol. I'm on the trail of some guy named Deviega,' replied Derek, athletically jumping to his feet. 'I should've known, with a relic involved, it would be Sydney Fox who gave them the tip-off.'

'Loaned out again, Lloyd?' said Sydney breathlessly. 'Isn't it weird how nobody seems to want to have you around for long?'

'That isn't very nice, Sydney,' said Derek, matter-of-factly. 'It looks like you're going to be having me around, though. I'm assuming you're after the same relic as the man I'm chasing. Maybe we can work together again?'

'We'll see,' said Sydney, aggressively brushing down her clothes.

'So _this_ is Derek?'

Derek turned instinctively at the sound of the unfamiliar English accented voice. 'Who's that?' He pointed a disapproving finger at Preston.

'That's Preston Bailey,' sighed Nigel. 'He's my brother.'

Preston held out his hand: 'Very pleased to meet you, Derek,' smirked Preston. 'My brother has told me _so_ much about you.'

'Has he?' asked Derek, genuinely surprised. Preston was treated to a teeth-rattlingly vigorous handshake. 'I guess Nigel and I have had quite some adventures together.'

Making an effort to ignore Preston's sarcasm, Nigel found that he genuinely _was_ pleased to see Derek. He grinned enthusiastically. 'So you're after Deviega too? Why did you come here? I told Cate…I mean, Interpol that he'd probably be heading for Meerutan.'

Just then, loud, clacking footsteps came echoing across the neighbouring exhibition hall.

'This is why I came here,' hissed Derek. 'The informant – you? - said there could be information to be had from this museum. Deviega has spies everywhere and I had to eliminate all threats.'

Sydney heard the tell-tale click of Derek's Beretta, as he primed it for action.

'No!' she shouted suddenly. Shoving the GI backwards, she ran to greet the approaching footsteps.

'Saritha!'

'Sydney! It's so great to see you!' A petite, studious-looking girl with bone rimmed glasses and smooth, dark hair, tied back in a neatly-ribboned ponytail, plonked down a large box and embraced her former teacher. 'Thanks so much for everything you've been doing for me.'

As she peeped over Sydney's shoulder, Saritha noted the hunky G.I. and his pointed gun. She also observed two scared looking chaps peeping out from behind the carved, wooden monoliths.

'Who are they?' she asked, slightly perturbed, but trusting that with Syd she was safe. 'I thought you only had one assistant?'

'You know this woman?' Derek had lowered his aim, but was still on edge.

'Yeah,' said Syd, 'Back off, Derek.' She turned back to Saritha. 'The two Englishmen cowering behind the exhibits are my assistant, Nigel Bailey, and his brother Preston. The man with the nasty great gun is Derek Lloyd. He's with Interpol…at least, _today_ he is. We were worried you'd been kidnapped.'

'Kidnapped! Why?'

'Somebody's raided your office. I'm afraid it's been completely turned over.'

Saritha cringed sheepishly. 'Umm, don't you remember? I'm not the tidiest of people, Syd.'

'Ah,' said Sydney, vaguely recalling. 'You better go see for yourself, then.'

'Saritha hurried over to the door and noted that the room was exactly as she left it. 'Sorry,' she confessed. 'It's just my usual mess. I'd just been to get the last of Sydney Carraway's boxes down from the attic storage. I thought we could start going through them together.'

'So there are no homicidal bad guys about at all, then?' asked Nigel, finally emerging from behind the monolith.

'Don't be so sure, my friend,' cautioned Derek, still scanning around the room warily.

'What about the missing concierge and the broken door?' demanded Preston, still lurking behind the exhibits. He wasn't taking any chances.

'I broke in,' disclosed Derek, businesslike. 'The receptionist had to be eliminated.'

'Omar!' wailed Saritha. 'How could you? He was a friend of mine!'

'What did you do that poor, innocent guy?' snarled Sydney, fists clenching.

'I just locked him in the lavatory, that's all.' Derek looked mildly guilty. 'For his own safety!'

Sydney let out a long, withering breath, and shook her head. Derek Lloyd wasn't always _quite_ as bad as she thought he was, but he still pushed her patience!

……………………………….

Once the very confused concierge had been released from the toilets, and all the introductions and explanations were over, Sydney was dead keen to start going through Miss Carraway's papers.

'There's no time to waste on research,' said Derek. 'If this Deviega guy isn't here, then we should be heading to Meertutan.' He tucked his gun, which he had been fiddling impatiently with, back in its holster.

'You seem to have forgotten, Derek,' said Sydney, keenly rummaging into the first of the boxes. '_We're_ after a relic, _not_ an international crime lord.'

'We'd better part ways then,' said Derek, matter-of-factly. He surveyed Nigel, Preston and Saritha, already pouring through papers and little notebooks. 'Take care, Sydney. You seem to have a heck of a lot of civilians with you on this one.' He leaned in close, and nudged Syd knowingly. 'And that's a _very_ good looking girl!'

Syd regarded him incredulously. She told herself that it made a nice change for Derek not be flirting with _her_, and repressed a tiny pang of jealousy.

Saritha looked up at the attractive American GI and fluttered her eye lashes. 'Do you really have to go? I've been nervous ever since I heard this Deviega guy is after the ruby. Can't you wait? I expect we'll all be travelling to Meerutan in the morning.'

Derek flashed a charming grin at the researcher. 'You want a bodyguard, miss?'

Nigel glared at Derek. 'Sydney's proficient enough in that department.'

Derek raised hands, wondering quite what he'd done to offend his buddy. 'Okay, okay. I know when I'm not wanted…'

'I didn't say that,' said Nigel, not looking up from his papers. 'I was just wondering…why did you pick this mission?'

Derek shrugged. 'I don't know. I suppose I like a challenge. This guy's been on the loose for ages, and nobody seems to be able to pin him down.'

'What about the ruby?'

'No interest in it whatsoever, my friend,' said Derek. That's your field… Hey… what's that?'

Sydney had been thumbing through a small, dust covered booklet written in a particularly scrawling hand. She swished it away, holding it aloft as Derek tried to seize it. 'I thought you weren't interested in 'waste of time' research?'

'That notebook is mine.' stated Derek. 'I recognise it.'

'It can't be,' said Saritha. 'Nobody has touched these boxes and since they were deposited in the museum in the 1930s.'

'It's mine.' The G.I didn't look like he wanted to be argued with.

Sydney caught a glimpse of Nigel. He was staring in concentration at Derek, and chewing his bottom lip.

'There you go,' she said calmly. She relinquished her grip on the notebook.

Derek pulled it from her, not without hesitation. He opened from page, and saw that it was written in an old-fashioned ink-pen. It _wasn't_ his, he knew that now: but he _could_ understand the scrappy handwriting.

'I made a mistake. This notebook was written in 1930, for Miss Sydney Carraway. There is a dedication.'

'What does it say?' Nigel jumped to his feet, and ran over. 'Derek, please, I _have_ to know what it says.' Preston looked mildly amused.

Derek's mouth fell open, as he made out the words of the dedication. He looked up, and stared aghast at Sydney.

'What?' pleaded Nigel.

'The inscription reads: _'To Miss Sydney Carraway. A long time ago, Nigel asked me to write down my adventures. I'm now very old, and there are few journeys left for me, so I thought I might as well fulfill his wishes. So, at last, I've written down my story. If anybody should know what to do with the meanderings of an old soldier, it would be you. So here they are. _

_Your old friend,_

_Colonel Dirk Lloyd._

_November 1928' _

Derek looked uncharacteristically bewildered. 'And then there's some joke about a…donkey?' He shook his head. 'Sydney…Nigel…_Dirk_ Lloyd? What the hell is this? Hey, are you all right, Nige?'

'I think I need to sit down,' said Nigel, thumping onto a large, wooden chest. 'Sydney… Derek was there too. We need to tell him about everything…._everything_.'

………………………………

**_1875: SS Leviathon, en route through the Suez Canal._**

_Sir Preston Finchley paced the deck of the Leviathon nervously. The heat was insufferable, but he couldn't bear to be cooped up in his first-class cabin any longer, well ventilated although it was. All he could think of was the prospect of bankruptcy and jail… and he was worried about Nigel, of course._

_He muttered an oath as he saw the bulky figure approach him up the deck. De Veleye tipped his hat at an attractive young lady as he passed her._

'_This is the life, eh, Sir Preston!'_

'_Is it?'_

'_By Jove, it most certainly is. What are you worrying about, man? All we need to do is find this ruby, and all your worries will be over.'_

'_Are they?' Preston groaned miserably. 'There were other debts, you know? Now I've left Grosvenor Square without paying the back rent, the landlord will think I've… what does one say?... oh yes, 'done a runner'. I will be arrested again as soon as I get back to England.'_

'_The ruby will solve that,' said De Veleye soothingly. 'My main concern, now you draw my mind to it, is that you might be arrested when we get to India.'_

'_Why should I be arrested in India?' squeaked Preston._

'_Too many young Englishmen with debt problems have fled there lately. The Metropolitan police have sent out special agents to round them up like rats. I'm afraid if word has got out you've 'done a runner', you may end up in a Calcutta prison cell…'_

'_My God! I had no idea!' Preston was terrified. Newgate had been bad enough!_

'_Don't worry, old chap,' oozed De Veleye, marvelling at how easily his naïve friend took the bait. 'You and I can swap papers before we arrive in India. That way, if anybody gets arrested, it'll be me! You then find your little brother - and that ruby, of course - and I'll sort everything out with the authorities. How does that sound?'_

'_I'm not sure…' dithered Preston._

_De Veleye shoved his scarlet face close up to the baronets. Preston jumped, worried he was going to have his collar felt again. 'Oh, I think you are sure, Sir Preston,' he growled. 'Let's go down below, and see if we can find our papers shall we?'_

_Preston nodded silently. _

'_Good man,' replied De Veleye, his tone sinister. 'Then how about a game of cards…?'_

………………………

**_1875: S.S. Euripides._**

_Dirk awoke his sleeping companion with a gentle tap on the shoulder. _

'_What is it?' moaned Nigel. 'I don't want to wake up…not 'til we get to Calcutta.'_

'_Can't you feel anything different?' asked Dirk._

_Nigel concentrated hard. Yes, something was different. A gentle sway still animated the small cabin, but the interminable, stomach-churning, up-and-down of the waves had stopped. He opened his eyes abruptly. 'Are we there?'_

'_We are,' affirmed Dirk. In truth, they'd been in port for hours, but he had waited until all the other passengers had dispersed. He didn't want to revive any nasty arguments about possession of the ruby! 'Let's get you on to dry land.'_

_When, after some shouting and yelling for attention, they were finally let out of the brig, Dirk and Nigel were clouted by the force of the beaming sunlight. Nigel found himself squinting against bright rays, which hit with a force that the English sun was simply not capable of._

'_Got the ruby?' whispered Dirk._

_Nigel patted his jacket pocket. 'Safe and sound!'_

'_Good. Now let's get you to a decent hostelry. I know just the place.'_

_Nigel, despite being keen to get on his journey to Meerutan, did not argue with the Captain. Right now, the only thing he had energy for was a nice, soft bed that did not move! _

_Stumbling down the gangplank, he absorbed the sights and sounds of India for the first time. There were horses and carts, crates and barrels, and sailors speaking a dozen fascinatingly different languages. Although many of them were English, Nigel also discerned a few Scottish and Irish accents. Behind the docks were tall, stone built warehouses._

_'It doesn't seem so different to London,' sniffed Nigel, more disappointed than consoled. It hardly lived up to Miss Carraway's descriptions of the joys and wonders of India - and of charming Indian princes!_

_Keeping close to Dirk, Nigel meandered towards a row of market stalls, selling beautiful hand woven textiles and trinkets, which could easily have been purchased from the bazaars in Margate. Some things were different, though: there was an indistinct buzz in the air, evoked by the shouts of the people, and the wind rustling through tall, unfamiliar-leaved trees, that could never have drifted through the damp, perpendicular streets of London. Nigel realised he was a long way from home._

_Dirk whistled at a horse-drawn cab with large, yellow wheels, bigger and grander than the London ones. It trundled over and they both piled into the back._

'_Where to?' asked the driver. He was Indian, and wore a turban, but spoke perfect English._

'_I can't afford the Oberoi Grand,' winked Dirk. 'Take us to the Raj Mahal Victoria Hotel.' He caught Nigel's confused glance. 'East meets west, huh?'_

_Nigel stared in awe as the sights and sounds of the city became more and more spectacular. In the distance he spied a marble tower, hundreds of feet high, from which he imagined Miss Carraway's Indian princes must have rescued long-locked, beautiful princesses - but not Sydney, of course: she would be more likely to rescue any man, than he liberate her! One large building, with soaring domes and pillars, attracted his attention particularly._

'_That's the museum,' said Dirk, unimpressed. 'It was all built by the British, you know? None of this is part of Calcutta is the real India…'_

'_Oh,' said Nigel, but he regarded the museum lovingly nevertheless. He wondered if he would have time for a visit._

_Dirk took two rooms at the Raj Mahal Victoria. With its white stone facade and classical pillars it, too, was not so very different from a London hotel. Inside, all the furniture and fittings were very English: their wooden styling seemed heavy and clumsy, out of place in the climate. Nigel's dissatisfaction was soon quashed when he caught sight of the large, comfortable and unmoving feather bed that awaited him in his room._

_He threw himself on to it, sinking into the soft, warm mattress, relieved, excited and strangely happy: he'd made it! _

_Nigel scrunched his nose, contemplating his relative triumph with satisfaction._

_Dirk, watching from the door, chortled._

'_You make yourself at home, my friend. I'm going down to order us some food. Curry?'_

_Nigel's stomach lurched at the though. 'No thank you… not that I don't like it, but…um, after the last few days I'm not sure it would be wise. Do you think they serve toasted muffins?'_

'_I'll see what I can do,' said Dirk._

_Once downstairs, however, Captain Lloyd did more than order the food. He wrote a swift note, which he dispatched immediately, to General George Fitzpatrick, of the 74th Regiment of foot, barracked near the docks in Calcutta. The note informed the General that there was a strong possibility that a Monsieur De Veleye, subject of an arrest warrant by the army authorities, may have had left London and be embarked for Calcutta. _

_Two hours later, General Fitzpatrick opened the note and immediately issued an order: a wanted man was suspected to be heading for the city. The papers of all arriving Englishmen should be searched and, if De Veleye was located, he should be apprehended immediately and locked up for good._

…………………………

_**1875: Calcutta. Three days later.**_

_De Veleye strolled through Calcutta docks, his chin held high, a satisfied leer on his lips. His plan had gone perfectly!_

_He had known he was a wanted man in India, and had suspected word would get out that he was returning. He chuckled at the memory of poor Sir Preston Finchley, dragged off by an unnecessarily large troop of soldiers, to answer for the crimes of Monsieur De Veleye! Ah, it had been a poetic, beautiful moment! Now all he had to do was find Finchley's younger brother. Surely that young pup would be even easier to best! _

'_Ah, Sir!' He addressed a uniformed customs official. 'Has the tea clipper, 'Euripides', arrived yet?'_

'_Three days ago, Sir,' replied the official._

'_Damn,' thought De Veleye. The clipper had been fast. 'Do you recall any of the passengers?' he asked the man. The official did not, but he directed De Veleye to where the horse-drawn cabs waited for the wealthier passengers to arrive off the boats. After some lengthy interrogations, one of the drivers recalled a young man of Nigel's description._

'_He was traveling with another officer,' said the cab driver, assuming this was an innocent inquiry. 'I took them to the Raj Mahal Victoria.'_

……………

_That same morning, Captain Lloyd had left the hostel early. His quiet knock on Nigel's door had stimulated no response, and he decided to leave his young friend to rest for the day. _

_He spent the morning in Calcutta's many street-markets and bazaars, before taking a spot of lunch at 'Kampur Palace'. It wasn't a very respectable 'joint,' frequented mainly by British soldiers and sailors, but it was one that he was fond of, and where he would have stayed had he not had Nigel with him. The girls were pretty, and he often had luck with a game of cards there. That day, he'd made a profit of 300 rupees without even having to crack any skulls together._

_It was mid-afternoon before he returned to the Raj Mahal Victoria and knocked again upon Nigel's door. No answer. He knocked louder._

_When there was still no answer, he became slightly concerned. He let himself in, and then took a sharp intake of breath._

'_Damn…damn!' The room and be completely 'turned over'. The feather mattress had been pulled apart, and the bedclothes were strewn all over the floor. Even the wardrobe had been opened, and its few contents scattered. There was no sign of Nigel._

_He dashed downstairs, and seized the stuffed shirt-collar of Mr. Augustus Jones, the English proprietor of the Raj Mahal Victoria, who was innocently totting up his books on reception: 'Mr. Finchley: the young man, who was with me. Where is he?'_

'_I haven't seen him since breakfast,' squeaked the bewildered hotelier. 'Mr. Finchley took his meal in his room, as usual…oh! I remember. A gentleman called to see him about 11 o'clock.'_

'_Who?' Dirk shook the man so hard that his glasses fell of. _

'_He said he was a friend! He went up to Mr. Finchley's room, and when he came down again, he left a card. If you put me down, I'll show it to you…'_

_Dirk released the man, who scrambled to find the calling-card under his desk. _

'_Ah…here it is: Monsieur De Veleye... He seemed a very respectable man!' 'The hotelier trembled as Dirk grabbed him again._

_A voice, accented with the perfect Queen's English sounded from the doorway: 'Monsieur De Veleye? Here?' _

_Dirk spun around, to confirm that the voice was, indeed, Nigel's. _

'_Captain Lloyd! What have you done to poor Mr. Jones?' _

_Lloyd let the innkeeper go, as Nigel rushed over and began brushing the man's dishevelled clothing, apologising profusely. _

_'Nigel! Where the hell have you been?'_

'_The museum,' said Nigel guiltily. 'I couldn't resist.'_

_Dirk rolled his eyes. 'Have you got the…um, the 'you know' on you?'_

_Nigel pursed his lips and nodded knowingly. _

_Lloyd apologised to the innkeeper for his rash behaviour, and appeased him with half of his gambling winnings. He then headed into the bar with Nigel for a much-needed drink._

_They sat down in a wooden booth, which very much resembled the sort you would find in an English country inn. The back of the card contained a disturbing message: _

_'This is your last chance, Finchley. Bring me that Ruby, or your brother is ruined and you'll never see England again.' _

_There was Calcutta address scribbled at the bottom._

'_We have to leave now,' gasped Nigel. 'Preston must have told him where I was going. Damn!' He pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a deep, calming breath. 'I can't risk losing the Ruby. Not now we've come so far.'_

'_It's a tough journey, Nigel.'_

'_I'm as ready as I'll ever be. I ate three different varieties of curry at breakfast this morning, you know?'_

_Dirk laughed. 'Very impressive. Were they hot and spicy?'_

_'Hot enough to blow a man's hat off!' _

'_I suppose if you're well enough to be eating curry and touring the museums, you're well enough to travel again.'_

_At the mention of the museum, Nigel's face lit up. 'It was wonderful! I saw a bust of Nefertiti, the Egyptian Queen! I read about her in Miss Carraway's book. She found it, you know, at the end of a snake filled chamber full of flying traps! And I saw the most enormous skeleton of an ancient giant elephant.' Nigel paused and sighed. 'I can't believe I've been nearly a week in India, and I haven't seen a real elephant yet.'_

'_You will,' said Dirk. 'You're going to be riding one.'_

'_Riding one?' Nigel gulped. He wanted to see an elephant, but he was entirely unconvinced he wanted to ride one. 'How far?'_

'_Meerutan is at least three days ride from the end of the line. We're going to have to take elephants when the railway runs out.' _

'_Lovely,' grimaced Nigel, picturing how much further one could fall from an elephant than from a horse._

'_I'll make the arrangements, and we can leave tomorrow morning,' said Dirk, rising from his seat. 'I'll also pass De Veleye's address on to the consulate. That blundering fool Fitzpatrick obviously missed him.'_

_He went off to speak to the innkeeper, just as the claret arrived. When he returned, the bottle was nearly empty. _

'_You could have saved some for me,' retorted Dirk, and ordered the waitress to bring them another bottle. 'You're thirsty tonight!'_

_Nigel, his face flushed with the effects of the alcohol, peered out at him from under an unruly, lock of dark hair. 'Yes, I'm sorry about that.' His voice slurred but meditative. 'But when you start a truly fine bottle of wine, you never can tell if it will be the last one that you'll ever drink.'_

'_I would say that you sound like a soldier,' said Lloyd. 'But I think you're just drunk.'_

'_You could be right, there,' murmured Nigel. He leant back in his chair, his eyes lolling shut as he savoured the last sip of the oaky, resonant liquid. 'And I might be wrong…maybe you can tell…'_

'_Stop being maudlin,' said Lloyd. He hauled his companion up and bundled him upstairs to his now disorderly bedroom. Lloyd turned the mattress over, so it was just about sleep-worthy, and Nigel crashed down onto the bed. _

_He seemed to have forgotten his previous misery altogether. A cheeky grin slowly spread across his face. 'Sydney! Ah – you should see her in action, Dirk! She kicks like a donkey!' _

'_Like a donkey?' Although he couldn't quite believe it, Dirk's young friend had just shocked him. His mind boggled as he tried to work out what exactly Nigel had meant._

'_Maybe not a Donkey…she's not a Donkey, Dirk, she's beautiful! More like a gazelle…or a…a…'_

_Dirk heard a loud snore. Nigel was out like a light! The captain crept from the room, chortling quietly to himself, and wondering if he'd ever know quite how a woman could kick like a donkey!_

……………………………

**21st century: Calcutta Museum**

Derek Lloyd paced around Saritha's office, crunching on the stray bits of paper that covered the floor.

'Okay. So I'm an open-minded guy. Just say I _do_ buy your story, and that this notebook shows that some guy called Dirk Lloyd, who _might_ have something to do with me, knew a Sydney and Nigel who _might_ have something to do with you. How does that help me catch Deviega? And how does it help you find the Diamond Ruby?'

'I'm not sure,' said Nigel slowly. 'But there might be something in the notebook, written at the time when Sydney Carraway and Nigel Finchley were in possession of the Ruby. Dirk mentions Nigel, and he was a soldier too. Maybe they were stationed in India together?'

'It's possible,' said Sydney. 'We're going to have to read his notebook and find out. Which is a bit tricky.'

'Why?' asked Dirk.

'I can't read the handwriting.' She passed the notebook to Nigel, who browsed few pages and then frowned. 'I've translated some badly formed scripts in my time, but nothing beats this. I can barely make out a word.'

'You didn't have too much problem, did you Derek?' Sydney smiled beguilingly at the American G.I.

'I guess not.' Derek stopped pacing. 'And I suppose you've done _me_ enough favours in the past. If you guys hurry up and find what you're looking for, we can catch the first train up to Meerutan together. I'll have a look at that note-book for you then.'

'Thanks,' said Sydney. 'We'd appreciate that.'

Derek turned to Nigel, pulling an expression of feigned shock. 'I never thought I'd hear Sydney Fox thanking _me_!'

Preston, who had been observing it all quietly, nudged his brother. 'Glad your chum Derek is coming on the journey?' he smirked. 'Or do you think he'll give you more nightmares?'

Nigel turned on him viciously. 'I _am_ glad, actually. He'll be a lot more bloody help than you've been so far. But then again, why _should_ you be of any help, when it was _Sir_ Preston who caused all the trouble in the first place!'

'What _are_ you raving on about?'

'Hmph.' Nigel realized he _wasn't_ exactly sure what he was raving on about, so he returned to his research. Preston did so as well, in silence.

Sydney raised a hand to cover her mouth and whispered, tongue in cheek: 'Those two don't exactly get on.'

'I'm not surprised,' said Derek. 'That Preston is a jerk.'

'You've only just met him!'

'He's a jerk,' articulated Derek. Sydney raised her eyebrows and delved back into her research.

'Hey, Syd. Check this out!' Saritha cried out excitedly as wiped the dust off one of the boxes to uncover a label:

'_Sydney Carraway, accounts and correspondence. 1875/1876._'

'This is it!' cried Sydney.

Nigel tensed. 'Maybe,' he muttered.

'You okay?' asked Derek. He'd started noticing that every revelation hit his friend like a sledgehammer.

'Fine,' dismissed Nigel. 'I'm fine, thank you.' Preston also observed his brother with a certain misgiving, but said nothing.

'There's reams of this stuff,' said Sydney, as she began leafing through. 'We know that Nigel Finchley left for India at the start of October 1875, so he would have been here by the end of the month. We need to find out where he went after that and what he did with the ruby. Sydney must have known, because she was visiting him all those years later.'

'He could have taken it elsewhere?' suggested Saritha.

'Possibly,' said Syd. 'But it would be the start of the trail, at least…hey, look! It's a letter from Meena!'

Sydney scanned down to the letter, which was dated January 1876, with an urgency that verged on desperation.

'She mentions the Ruby! Here we go…Meena is thanking Sydney and her '_dear friend_' - that must be Nigel! - for _'helping me regain my family's honour, and ensuring the Diamond Ruby is hidden nearby and protected until a time comes in which it can safely be shared with the world again.'_

'Where did they put it?' entreated Saritha. The others were equally rabid with anticipation.

Sydney's brow creased as she scrutinized the tiny and stylised handwriting. 'She doesn't say…but 'nearby' is good enough for me. We head straight for Meerutan.

'What's this about?' asked Preston, pointing to some text towards the end. 'Look, she mentions De Veleye.'

'Yes!' said Sydney, picking up on the sentence. 'She says…that no punishment would ever compensate for the consequences of his actions.'

'What does she mean?' asked Saritha.

'I don't know,' said Sydney. 'But I hope that bastard paid with his life…' she trailed off, and glanced across at Nigel. 'What do you think it means?'

'I…I don't know,' stuttered Nigel. 'It doesn't matter now does it? I mean, they're all dead…sort of. We just need to know where the Ruby is…'

'Okay, guys,' jutted in Derek, getting impatient. 'You've got the confirmation you need – let's move out!'

'But we still haven't got a clue where the Ruby is hidden!' flustered Nigel. 'Nearby' could mean China for we know!'

'China?' asked Syd skeptically.

'China is _relatively_ nearby…' Nigel broke off as Preston sniggered at him again. He was getting fed up with his brother belittling everything he said, even if that _had_ been one of his sillier suggestions. He glowered at him.

'Nigel is right,' conceded Saritha. 'We still need more clues. I should stay here and continue digging. You take the 1875/1876 box to read on the train while Derek is translating the diary.'

'Great idea,' said Sydney. 'Let's gather up as much as we can and head for the station. By the time we get to Meerutan, we ought to have some answers. Let's go.'

They all bustled to gather up the stuff – all, that is, except Nigel, who remained sitting on the trunk, staring at the floor.

'You okay?' whispered Sydney again. As the others piled out of the office, she sat down next to him, Nigel didn't even look at her. She slipped her hand over his, and squeezed it, causing him to start.

'Do you remember?' she asked in a hushed tone. 'What did Nigel Finchley do with the Ruby?'

'I haven't a notion,' he replied flatly. 'The cave…all I can think of is that bloody cave.'

'But the Ruby _isn't_ in the cave,' said Sydney. 'It's near to Meerutan, but we've ruled out that possibility.'

'I know,' said Nigel, lifting his eyes to hers. 'That's what worries me.'

'Don't worry. Everything will be just fine – I promise.'

Her soothing words concealed a swell of impetuous emotion, which nearly drove her lips to his. Nigel looked tired, dishevelled, more rugged than usual: there was a distinct hint of stubble on his chin. She rose, slightly apologetically, still quashing an unprecedented desire to kiss her assistant.

'Come on, Nige, stop moping around. We've got a train to catch.'

…………………………………………

Thanks for reading. Please review.


	13. Part twelve: Passage across India

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for the reviews.**

**21st Century: Calcutta station.**

'I'm terribly sorry, madam' said the primly efficient lady at the ticket office. 'There is only _one_ apartment left on the sleeper train. It contains four bunks, but one of them is broken.'

'We'll take it!' said Sydney, without hesitation. 'I'm sure the four of us can make do with three bunks.' She turned with a sexy smile to Nigel, Preston and Derek. 'It's not a problem with you guys, is it?'

The men shook their heads in unison, dumbstruck as each conceived the possibilities of the sleeping arrangements.

…………….

As soon as they located the cramped sleeper apartment, Sydney flung off her satchel and bounced down onto a bottom bunk, with the broken shelf above. 'So,' she asked teasingly. 'Who's going to share?'

'Hey,' said Derek. 'Let the civilians have one each. You and I are used to slumming it, Syd. We could take it in turns…' He flashed his cheesiest grin. 'And snuggle up and share body heat if the temperature drops.'

'It's not happening, Derek. I don't share with anybody who sleeps with their gun in their pocket. I'd feel it digging into me all night!'

'Well, those two had better share then,' sniffed Derek, motioning to Preston and Nigel. 'They _are_ brothers.'

Nigel and Preston both looked horrified. 'We've not shared a room since I was four!' squeaked Nigel. 'Apart from on holiday - ugh! And he snores!'

'No I don't!' retorted Preston. 'And at least I don't rave like a madman in my sleep. Anyway, it's a moot point. We'd never fit – those bunks are far too small.'

'I guess you are far too tall to share with anybody, Preston' observed Sydney. She pointed to Nigel and Derek: 'Do you two fancy shacking up?'

There was a blank silence.

'It might be convenient if you have any more of those dreams about him, Nigel…. Ow!' Preston 's brother kicked him _very_ hard on the shin.

Derek looked even blanker, but muttered something about: 'I don't think Nigel would like the gun in my pocket either.'

Deciding her little game had gone far enough, Sydney turned to Nigel. 'Ah well, looks like it's you and I will be sharing the sleeping bag again!'

'Again!' Preston and Derek both looked aghast - and rather jealous.

A playful smile twitched at the corners of Nigel's mouth, and he sensed Sydney suppress a giggle. 'Ah well,' he sighed theatrically, and flung his rucksack down on the bunk next to Sydney. 'The things I do in the name of historical research!'

………………………

_**1875: Calcutta Station**_

'_Come on, lad, you can make it!'_

_Captain Dirk Lloyd and Nigel Finchley sprinted onto the station, as the train for Lucknow was gathering steam and beginning its slow chug out of the station. _

_Dirk swung himself onto the footplate on the side of one of the carriages, opened the door, and then held out a hand for Nigel who still trotting along at the side of the train, having not yet gained a hold._

_He grabbed Nigel's arm and hauled him into the carriage, just as the train gathered speed._

'_You can thank me later,' said Dirk, joking but concerned: Nigel was much too breathless to thank him at that moment._

_Nigel collapsed nearly full length along the carriage seat, which fortunately was otherwise only occupied by an elderly woman, bare-footed, with a long flowing, yellow veil, and two quacking ducks in a wooden crate. He struggled to gather his breath, and fight his racing heartbeat, as Dirk peered out of the window and back down the platform. _

_To the Captain's consternation, he and Nigel had not been the last passengers to catch this particular train. A small group had just piled into the guard's van at the back, which included two European-looking men. They were attired in safari suits and hats, as if going big-game hunting. One of them had a large elephant gun slung over his shoulder._

_Although Dirk could not discern the newcomers' faces, he had his suspicions: 'De Veleye,' he muttered. 'Damn you, man.'_

'_De Veleye?' puffed Nigel, his voice hitching with alarm, 'on the train?'_

_Dirk shook his head confidently: 'No. He's not on the train. You just concentrate on not having another of your 'turns.' Nigel nodded, and rolled onto his side, only to be given the 'evil eye' by one of the quacking, white ducks. Pink faced, he scowled at the fowl, shut his eyes, and thought of gently rolling hills, cherry orchards, shining mill-pools and evil-eyed quacking, brown ducks: England, home. _

_As soon as he heard his companion's ragged breath grow steady and even - an indicator, he hoped, of sleep - Dirk quietly pulled from his knapsack his army issue Colt Revolver. Much to the chagrin of his female co-passenger, he laid each shining bullet out across the seat, assessing his arsenal. He then dismantled the gun to its basic elements, checking each function was primed. Reassembling it with a professional prowess, he ensured it was fully loaded._

……………………….

**21st Century: The Calcutta – Meerutan railway.**

Although sleeping arrangements were settled, it was still only mid-afternoon. Nigel took time, when he wasn't reading, to peruse distant vistas of mountains and skyward-sweeping forests. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of sprawling towns and nigh-fantastical palaces or temples. 'It really is a beautiful country,' he thought to himself. 'And the people seem very friendly. Maybe Nigel Finchley _did_ stay on because he liked it and to study the history.' It was a reassuring thought, and Nigel Bailey imagined he might one day like to do the same.

Most of the journey, however, was devoted to research and it was Derek, of all people, who made a discovery first.

He had been fascinated by Captain Dirk's notebook: this guy had done some exciting stuff, involved in battles and secret missions from Jamaica to Botany Bay. What's more, he'd known how to have good time: he collected coins! Derek hoped some of them might have found their way into Miss Carraway's boxes at the Calcutta museum, and that he could peruse them some time.

Turning from the Captain's account of a trip back home to Yorkshire to visit a recently married but none too-loved sister, he stumbled upon a useful revelation. Catching a tea-clipper from London to Calcutta, Captain Dirk, not an individual with too many friends, had become companionable with a young man named Nigel Finchley.

'Hey, Nige, I think we have a break through!' He motioned the others over, who needed little prompting.

'Captain Lloyd met Nigel Finchley on the boat to India. He helped him retrieve a Ruby that had been stolen.' He scanned a few more lines of text as they others tried to vain to translate the scrawling hand. His brow creased. 'Nigel was ill. It says here that the Captain thought he might die on the boat…'

'He didn't die, though …' Preston's interruption was garbled. 'He couldn't have, surely…. could he?'

'It would have been pretty much thanks to his brother if he had!' retorted Nigel.

Sydney shook her head. 'Nigel didn't die on the boat. We know he took the Ruby to India and…stayed. If anything bad happened to him, that bastard De Veleye would have been to blame.'

'Come on Derek, what _did_ happen?' implored Nigel.

Dirk shook his head. 'Sorry buddy, it doesn't say. There seems to be some sort of note in the margins for Miss Carraway, though…yes. It says: 'I would never betray your trust by writing down here where the Ruby is hidden…''

'Damn!' interjected Syd.

Derek continued '… but I know you will always remember the sacrifice that young man made. I've seen misplaced loyalty to Empire, Queen and Country strip away the lives of the best and most noble soldiers. Nigel was driven by devotion stronger than any; his allegiance, above all, was to you.'

There was a short silence.

'Oh,' said Nigel, slightly flustered. 'That isn't very, um, helpful, is it?' He returned to his own research, pushed his glasses up his nose, and stared purposefully at the little words. Preston, pale and blustering, did the same.

Sydney smiled, thin lipped. 'Good work, Derek. Keep reading - there might be something else there.'

'I don't think so,' said Derek. 'Captain Dirk knew how to keep a secret…' He returned to the diary, nevertheless, astounded that historical research could be nearly as compelling as an album of stamps.

He glanced up, only momentarily, as Sydney nestled down next to Nigel. 'Hey,' said Sydney. 'How've you been getting on?'

'I'm not sure,' said Nigel, peeping at her over the top of his glasses, which had slipped back down his nose again. 'I've noticed that some of these passages in 'The Fortunes of Nigel' are dated. Nigel Finchley used this book almost like the diary, marking passages that reflected how he felt in his life. See this reads: '_Ay, revenge--and there strikes the happy hour!_' Sydney ran her eyes over the passage and nodded. 'Well, Nigel has written in the margins: '_No revenge could be happier than mine today, when I put a grass-snake in Preston's bed in exchange for the hedgehog he put in mine last week (which, incidentally, I have decided to keep as a pet.) 1st July, 1864" _Nigel grinned. 'I hope that snake made Sir Preston slither with horrow!'

Preston, overhearing, bristled and huffed. 'Interesting information,' said Sydney sardonically, 'but completely useless.'

'I know, I know.' Nigel thumbed through a few more pages, locating another dated passage, which contained reflections, in both the text and the margins, on the untimely loss of a mother. A reflective sadness crept across his soft features. He shut the book respectfully. 'How about you, Syd? Have you found anything new?'

'There's nothing in this particular batch. It's mainly accounts: hotel bills, Atlantic steamers, railway tickets…this woman knew how to travel! There's even one for a hot-air balloon! Sydney laughed. 'I wonder why she needed that?'

'I don't know,' said Nigel, in an undertone. 'And I'm increasingly not sure I want to know. If we were supposed to know about our past-lives – or deaths - surely we'd remember them?'

'But Nigel didn't die in 1875. Maybe he was ill, but what about Miss Carraway's visit to him in 1920?'

Nigel could sense Preston and Derek watching them like hawks, and he was sure he could hear his brother's ears flapping. 'Can we go out into the corridor?' he hissed.

'Sure,' said Syd, also craving the solitary company of her assistant.

Once outside, a European-looking man in a light-safari suit, who had been hovering outside a compartment further up the carriage, went back into his accommodation. An elderly woman in a pink-sari bustled by with a crate of two quacking white ducks, which gave Nigel, so he thought, the 'evil eye.' Once she had passed they were alone in the corridor. They both spoke at one:

'Sydney, I…'

'Nigel…I'm sorry…'

'Sorry about what?' asked Nigel, forgetting quite what he was going to say. 'There's no need to be sorry.'

'I'm sorry if this is hard for you,' finished Sydney. She rubbed his arm. 'Maybe some things are better left in the past. Once we've found the Ruby, maybe we shouldn't be the ones to research the Carraway papers and Captain Lloyd's diaries. They're hardly our areas of expertise are they…?' Her words faded as she finally detected the hurt on Nigel's face.

'Don't you want to find out? What he…what Nigel…did for…?'

'I though you didn't want me to know?' asked Sydney, feeling rather inept. She'd missed the subtext - again.

'No…no, well, if you'd rather not, I'd rather not,' mumbled Nigel, staring down at his boots. 'It was probably something rather stupid…a bit like something _I_ would do…'

'I don't think so,' said Sydney, regarding Nigel intimately. A visit to the washroom on the train had returned him to his usual, well-groomed self, albeit a little jaded. His short-ish fringe flopped, limper than usual, onto his forehead. Nevertheless, she found her recently kindled attraction to him had not diminished. Her fingers lightly brushed his cheek.

'Whatever happened, Nigel Finchley made a great sacrifice for Sydney Carraway, and…she was really grateful.'

Startled, his eyes locked into hers.'She was?' he asked, barely knowing which words escaped him.

'Yeah,' said Sydney, her voice low and husky. 'But she never showed him how much…'

Four words ran through her mind - 'go with the flow' - as an irrepressible spirit compelled her arms to entwine themselves around Nigel's shoulders.

His responsive squeak was repressed as her lips plunged onto his. After a moment of panic, she felt him relax in her embrace, and the kiss was returned, with a moist, caressing vigour. His arms slipped around her waist and he pulled her close. By the end, _he_ was holding _her_.

After a blissful minute, he broke away, abruptly. 'Sydney…I'm so sorry!'

'Why,' asked Sydney, breathless. 'Boy, Karen was right. You _are_ good!'

'But how did it happen?' pleaded Nigel. 'Why did we just do…_that_? We've never done it before…it isn't very 'us', is it…not that there is an 'us', is there? Well, not in that sense….oh, oh dear.'

Nigel, utterly flustered, flopped against the window, thrusting his fingers through his hair. 'What just happened, Syd?'

'I kissed you,' said Sydney, 'and I enjoyed it.'

'Why?'

Sydney licked her lips, and searched for the right thoughts and words. All she could be sure about was that she had acted on instinct, and she was glad.

The mood was shattered when the compartment door opened and Preston stuck his head out abruptly. 'What are you two up to?' he demanded. 'Can somebody go and find the buffet car? I'm starving!'

'I'll go,' said Nigel hastily, and scuttled off up the corridor, surprising his brother by his amenability, and himself by his reluctance to wait for Sydney's answer.

Sydney shrugged, and went back into the carriage to carry on with the research.

As she did so, the European man in the safari suit clicked shut the door of his compartment, and began making a call to his boss: a Mr Deviega, who was then taking a strong shot of whisky in a hotel in Meerutan.

Deviega was oddly pleased to learn of the escape of Professor Fox and her entourage. 'That woman is hard to kill,' he observed, 'which could work in our favour. All I've found in Meerutan is a frightened old woman with a story about a cave and coded locks. If there is a code to crack, then I'm going to _need_ Sydney Fox. Lure her!'

He barked further instructions to his henchmen, who took note and then said: 'There's somebody else on this train, as well.'

A further plan was calculated in Deviega's fiery mind, as his informant filled in the details. 'In that case,' he responded, 'I have just two words: eliminate her!'

………………………

_**1875: Calcutta.**_

_On her arrival in Calcutta, after three days dash on a train from Bombay, Sydney's first port of call was the docks. She made urgent enquiries to the dock officials for any information about a young army officer, Nigel Finchley. She described him as 'a very handsome boy,' but 'a boy nevertheless.' She then asked after De Veleye, an 'undesirable,' and a 'hardened criminal.'_

'_Oh yes, I remember De Veleye,' said the official on duty, the igniting recognition. 'He was arrested by the military police on his arrival in the city.'_

'_He was?' Sydney felt a surge of relief, tempered by a notion of disappointment. 'Where did they take him?'_

'_To the army jail,' replied the official. 'He was a funny, whining fellow – rather young, I thought, for one accused of so many crimes.'_

'_How young?' inquired Sydney, her suspicion kindling. 'What did he look like?'_

'_Oh, I'm not a good judge,' confessed the dock man, 'but I'd say he was not much more than 25. Blonde, tall, handsome - I'd suppose you'd say - but rather callow. He protested pathetically as they took him away. He claimed he wasn't De Veleye but a baronet: Sir Percy Fenton or something like that… what's wrong, Miss?'_

'_Men!' spat Sydney. 'They're all blethering fools, every last one of them!' Now she had that buffoon Preston to rescue as well! _

_She sighed, resignedly. 'Where's the military jail?' _

…………………

**21st Century: The Calcutta – Meerutan railway**

Nigel returned from the buffet car, with a paper bag full of an eclectic variety of local delicacies. He found only Preston waiting in the compartment, grinning superciliously.

'What is it? asked Nigel, irritated. 'Where's Sydney?'

'Looking for you - with your chum, Derek. This note was pushed under the door.' Preston showed his brother a piece on paper, on which was written in large, capital letters. 'YOU ARE BEING FOLLOWED.'

'They thought you might have done something stupid,' said Preston. 'Got kidnapped, or something. Again.'

'Well, I hope _they're_ alright,' muttered Nigel. He handed Preston the paper bag. 'Do you fancy any of that?'

Preston perused the contents with disdain. 'Didn't you get any onion bhajis?'

'It's real Indian food, Preston, not the stuff you get from the ready meal counter in Marks & Spencer's!'

'Surely they had onion bhajis?' complained Preston, bitterly disappointed. 'I really fancied one!'

Just then, Sydney and Derek returned.

'Nigel!' cried Sydney. 'You'd better keep close from now on. You've seen the note?'

Nigel nodded gravely. 'Yes. Who do you think it's from?'

'Deviega,' she growled. 'It's him, I know it.'

Nigel regarded the note. 'Then why is he warning us? Maybe it's from someone who's trying to help us?'

'Could be,' said Derek. 'But it isn't safe out there. Somebody tried to take Sydney's knife from her boot. She struck out in time, but they got away.'

'Are you okay, Syd?' asked Nigel.

'Yeah. But I didn't even see the thief. They kind of…vanished.'

'Well, I don't care how many criminal elements are floating around this train,' said Preston. 'Someone's got to go back up to the buffet carriage and see if they've got any onion bhajis.'

The other three looked at him disdainfully. 'Fine!' Preston jumped his feet. 'I'll go!'

Sydney slipped her knife from her boot and handed it to him. 'You better take this…' she said reluctantly. 'Conceal it in your jacket. Just in case.'

'I won't get arrested, will I?'

'It's for self-defense!' Sydney, exasperated, was tiring of her offer.

Was it really worth risking life and limb for an onion bhaji? Preston wavered for a moment, and decided he really _did_ fancy one. 'Thank you,' he said graciously, accepting the knife and imagining how brave he must look. 'Can I get _you_ anything, Professor Fox?'

'I'm sure whatever Nigel brought is fine,' she replied, sitting down next to her assistant with a smile, as his brother left the carriage. 'What's in the bag, Nigel?'

………………………………

_**1875: Calcutta barracks.**_

_No damsel in distress had ever been happier to see her knight in shining armour than Sir Preston Finchley was to see Sydney Carraway when she liberated him from his cell at the Calcutta military jail._

_'How on earth did you persuade them I wasn't De Veleye?' He asked, as she bundled him out of the barracks and into the back of the carriage. 'I've been trying all week!'_

_'Let's just say I promised a few waltzes that I never intend to give. Besides, you don't quite fit the description they had of De Veleye. You're tall and blonde alright, but you're not, err…'_

'_I'm not what?' _

'_In Meerutan, De Veleye built up quite reputation as an, umm, bare knuckle fighter. I pointed out to the general that it simply couldn't be you. After hearing about your conduct in the past seven days from the guards, he agreed.'_

_Preston was indignant: 'I can handle myself very well in a fight!'_

'_Yes?'_

_Sydney spun into a pulled punch. Preston squeaked and ducked, instinctively covering his head with his arms. _

'_Don't hit me!' He peeked through his fingers to spy Sydney laughing at him. He straightened, and stuck his chin in the air. 'That wasn't fair! I wasn't ready. Besides, my nerves are on edge. I've had a very bad week!'_

'_I'll look forward to you showing me your boxing skills next week then.' _

'_Fine,' grumbled Preston. 'It has been simply awful in here, Miss Carraway. The food was terrible. I thought at least I'd get a nice curry, but no! It was all nasty, smelly stews and dry, bitty bread. I might as well have been back in Newgate.' He peered out of the window to see that the carriage was speeding back towards the centre of the city, with its inspiring domes and towers. 'Where are we going anyway?'_

_Sydney rolled her eyes. 'To find Nigel? You remember him, don't you Preston? Dark hair, boyish, a little shorter than you? Your brother?'_

'_Oh, yes, him. Well, whatever he's been doing, he can't have been having as bad a time as I have.'_

'_Let's hope not,' muttered Sydney. 'Fortunately, I have friends in this city and they've been working hard on my behalf. Nigel left Calcutta on a train for Lucknow three days ago. '_

'_It doesn't sound like he's in any danger then'_

'_He is. A man who fits the description of the real De Veleye embarked on the same train. He could have the ruby already.'_

'_It's too late, then,' groaned Preston. 'Poor Nigel. I hope he didn't hurt him too much.'_

'_It's not too late,' said Sydney resolutely. 'Nigel wasn't alone when he boarded the train. There was another soldier with him, Captain Dirk Lloyd. I have never met the man, but I know him by reputation. A friend of mine had some very nice things to say about him, before he broke her heart! He's a ruthless fighter, but a good man to have about if he's on your side. If the Captain's helping him, Nigel might have a chance to hold onto the Ruby until we catch up…'_

'_But they've all got at least a three-day head start!'_

_'The train doesn't go all the way. They will have to alight at Lucknow, and ride the rest of the way. However, a line all the way to Meerutan has just been completed. They're not running any trains down it yet, but if one could commandeer a locomotive... '_

_The mischievous glint Sydney's eye disturbed Preston: 'I hope you're not proposing anything criminal, Miss Carraway. We couldn't…I couldn't.'_

'_Nigel's life could depend on it, Preston. Think about it – if De Veleye catches up with him, he could kill him. Or Nigel could be very ill. He needs us as soon as possible.'_

'_I suppose you're right. Isn't there any other way?'_

'_NO other way,' said Sydney, her temple almost flaming. 'Do you know how I got here so quickly?'_

_He shook his head wanly._

'_First up, I persuaded the captain of the Atlantic steamer that he wanted to capture the Blue Riband for the R.M.S. Hellenic.'_

'_The shortest time for an Atlantic crossing?'_

'_Yes. I went down to the engine rooms myself, and helped shovel the coal into the boilers. I sang bawdy songs with the boys into the early hours as we kept those furnaces at maximum power all the way: the Hellenic got the record.'_

'_Good show, Miss Carraway. Bravo!'_

'_Then, when I found that the tunnel through Mont Cenis was blocked by a landslide, I stole a balloon! Well, I didn't exactly steal it. The balloonist assistance, a lovely young mademoiselle called Claudia, helped me, after a little persuasion. She squealed for most of the journey over the mountain's - I have to admit, it was bumpy at times - but I assured her that one day people would go Alpine Ballooning for fun.'_

'_No doubt,' said Preston. 'Well done though. You are a sport!'_

'_The point is that I've dashed half the way round the world in much less the time than it took Phileus Fogg, and I'm not giving up on Nigel now. It's both of our faults he's in this mess, and I'll do whatever it takes to catch up with him…and to get revenge on anybody who has harmed him.' _

…………………….

**21st Century: The Calcutta – Meerutan railway**

When Preston returned, he looked even more dejected than he had all day. 'They didn't give me any onion bhajis,' he lamented. He pulled a jar of pickled onions from a paper bag. 'I think they misunderstood me, and sold me this instead.'

'I told you they didn't have any,' smirked Nigel. 'Not that I'm complaining…pass us a pickled onion, Preston.'

Preston scowled, and handed the jar to Nigel, who opened it and peered in, wondering what he could use to fish out the floating vegetables.

Sydney eyeballed Nigel's annoying brother.

'Can I have my knife back, please?'

'Oh, yes, of course. Nobody bothered _me_, you know. I think it comes of looking like an upstanding British citizen - people don't mess with Preston Bailey!' He reached into his jacket for where he'd slipped the knife. He rummaged about for a second, and then stared at Sydney with a mixture of apology and fear.

'It's gone! Somebody must have stolen it!'

'Great!' said Sydney. 'I loved that knife…'

'Civilians!' mumbled Derek.

Nigel grinned sarcastically. 'Preston would get robbed at a tea-party at Buckingham Palace,' he gleefully informed Derek. 'Thieves must see him coming a mile off. He's utterly, utterly clueless!'

Preston stared daggers at Nigel, and Sydney and Derek regarded Preston with scorn. Nevertheless, Syd's gut was telling her who the man was behind this theft was. She vowed to herself she would get her knife back and with it, she would get revenge on the man behind everything!

………………………

It was late in the evening when the issue of the bunks reared its ugly head again.

'Don't you think we could ask them to provide another sleeping bag?' asked Nigel. 'It's going to be an awfully tight squeeze in there.'

'We've been in tighter,' observed Sydney. She went to pull off her top in order to change into her pajamas, but stopped suddenly before anything was removed.

Derek, who had claimed the top bunk on the opposite side of the cabin, was grinning down at her, his hand rested on his chin, waiting to enjoy the slow. Rather more surreptitiously, Preston was peering over the top of research papers. Only Nigel had the decency to look vaguely embarrassed, and _he'd_ seen it all before!

Not that Sydney cared what they saw, but she decided she needed a good excuse to speak to Nigel alone. 'Okay guys, out!' She thumbed in the direction of the corridor.

'Oh, yes, of course!' Preston jumped up and scuttled out guiltily.

'Aw, come on Sydney. I'm very comfortable here! Besides, why does Nige get all the fun?'

'He's my assistant.'

Derek jumped down from his bunk, landing face-to-face with Sydney in the narrow gap between the beds. Their lips hovered inches apart.

'Do I really have to go?'

'Get out before I kick you out the window, Derek Lloyd!'

Derek raised his hands the resignation. 'Okay, okay, I'm going.' He winked at Nigel. 'Lucky boy! No wonder you stick around at this job. What exactly do you assist her with, again?'

Nigel went a bright shade of pink. Derek chuckled and departed.

As soon as he was gone, Sydney whipped off her top and changed swiftly. Nigel buried his nose in 'The Fortunes of Nigel' and peeked - very subtly – over the top. Sydney, now dressed in her grey, shortie pajamas, shuffled up next to him.

Nigel lowered the book slowly as he felt her uncovered thigh brush up against his still-trousered leg.

'Why did you send them away?' he asked nervously.

'I wanted to check you were okay,' said Sydney. 'About earlier - when I kissed you?'

'Oh, um, yes, fine. It was very nice. We should do it again sometime, oh, well, if you like… I wouldn't expect it or anything...'

Sydney giggled at Nigel's incoherent stutterings. 'Don't you want to know _why_ I kissed you?'

Nigel looked at her intently, but said nothing. Sydney took that as a 'yes.'

'I felt this urge… this irrepressible energy. I think it was Sydney Carraway!'

'Miss Sydney Carraway wanted to kiss me?' He concealed any disappointment well.

'Yes, I think she did. As least, I think she wanted to kiss Nigel Finchley. Maybe they had some sort of love affair?'

Nigel shook his head. 'I don't think so. I don't think they were ever a couple.'

'What makes you so sure?'

Nigel shrugged. 'I don't know. But if you've got your hunches, I've got mine. Sorry Syd.'

There was a moment of awkward silence.

'Shall we forget about it?' asked Nigel.

'No! There must be some explanation.'

'I'm sure there must be. But it makes the whole sleeping bag thing rather difficult, doesn't it?'

Sydney was puzzled. 'What you mean?'

'Well, um, you know, what with all these irrepressible urges. Anything could happen!' Sydney couldn't quite tell if he was joking or indignant. She narrowed her eyes.

'I think I can control myself, if you can.'

'I'll do my best!' said Nigel. He grinned, and she relaxed a little. 'Now are you going to bury your head in a book while _I_ get undressed?'

'No. I'm going to enjoy the show.'

Nigel looked horrified, and so Sydney picked up his little leather book and began thumbing through. 'I'm _not_ looking Nigel, you get changed.'

Nigel was sure that Sydney never absorbed a single phrase of Sir Walter Scott's frilly and dated prose. He felt her gaze burning through the fabric on his back, as he turned away, unbuttoning his dark-red shirt and peeling it off quickly, thankful for the white T-shirt beneath. It suddenly bothered him that Sydney always seemed to be dating men who were nearly a foot taller than him, and who obviously rotted their brain-cells in the gym for hours every day. He hoped she wasn't comparing him to them.

Sydney, on the other hand, ran her tongue slowly over her lips, trying to remember the last time she had been in such a small space with such a sexually charged atmosphere. Nigel may have been smaller than her average prey, but he sure was well formed!

Taking a deep breath, Nigel unbuttoned his flies, peeled off his slacks, and leapt for the sleeping bag before Sydney could quite get her fill of his brief, white boxers. Tucking his feet in and pulling it up to his waist, he smiled sheepishly.

'It's going to be tight!'

'Shall I see if I can fit?' asked Sydney.

Nigel shuffled over, and Sydney alighted from her perch on the far end of the bunk. She climbed in and eased her legs down next to his, bare flesh now rested against bare flesh. Nigel felt the softness and warmth of her rounded hips, as they nestled in next to his, forcing him to shift over against the side of the bunk. There was no space for air between them. It was indeed a tight squeeze.

'This is cosy,' said Nigel, grimacing slightly. 'Maybe I should just sleep on the floor or something.'

'No!' said Sydney. She called outside. 'You guys can come back in now.'

Preston and Derek came back in and grunted appropriately.

'Lucky boy!' repeated Derek.

Preston just scowled and muttered 'you wait until he starts having nightmares!'

As Sydney reached to turn the light switch out, Nigel couldn't help favouring his jealous companions with a cheeky wave: 'Night, night!' he said sarcastically.

As all went black, they both silently cursed his luck. Sydney smiled, surprisingly contented, and snuggled up next to Nigel, as chastely as she could bear.

……………………………..

Nigel's rest was nearly as disturbed as the night before, and not much quieter. The bothersome trundle of the train, and its noisy whistles and often squeaking breaks, meant that he drifted in and out of shallow slumber, bothered by visions of quacking white ducks, elephants, rubies and caves.

Sydney's proximity was a comfort and a hindrance. She apparently fell asleep quickly, and curled over on her side. Her arm crept across his middle, finding a comfortable rest against his tummy. He enjoyed the feel of its rise and fall whenever he took a breath, and was pleased that her whole body, cooler at first, absorbed his warmth until he could hardly tell where he ended and she began.

Eyes wide open, Nigel felt the train decelerating to a faltering halt in the early hours of the morning. The noisy jolting ceased, and an eerie silence crept into the compartment, broken only by the distant buzz of bothersome mosquitos and Preston's soft snores, drifting from the opposite bunk. He shut his eyes, and wriggled until he was really comfy, his body pressed lightly against Sydney's. She stirred in her sleep as he disturbed her hold of him, and he felt her fingers tingle along his side finding a resting place just below his hip.

Nigel enjoyed the sensation, and cast their suggestive intimacy out his mind: 'Sleep,' he thought. 'Surely now I can sleep.'

The silence was pierced by a shattering scream.

Sydney was awake, out of the sleeping bag, and running down the corridor in the direction of the cry before Nigel had even propped himself up on an elbow. When he turned the light switch on, Derek had also gone. He was left staring at his bleary, shocked brother.

'What the hell?' gasped Preston. 'What's going on?'

'Take it easy, old boy,' said Nigel, jumping out of bed. Preston wasn't used to such excitement, not like he'd become. 'Sydney will sort it out. I'll go and see what's happening.'

As he stepped into the corridor, his bravado faded, and he hesitated and watched. Sydney and Derek had reached a compartment at the end of the carriage. Derek's gun was drawn at the ready. The scream came again, and Sydney busted the door down.

On the other side, a woman was strewn across the bottom bunk, her white nightshirt stained with a growing patch of scarlet blood. Sydney instantly recognised her knife, lying bloodstained on the floor, and the face of the stricken woman.

Although she was ashen, her ginger hair and freckled complexion was unmistakable:

'Molly!'

……………………………………

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	14. Part Thirteen: Ariadne

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for the reviews.**

**21st century: The Calcutta Meerutan Railway**

'Molly!'

Sydney took two steps towards the stricken woman, but was stopped in her tracks by another ear piercing scream. Molly's eyes flew open.

'It's okay,' said Sydney, her tone reassuring. 'We'll get help, take it easy.'

As Derek, gun still at the ready, yelled for assistance, Sydney edged towards the woman, in order to offer comfort and check her condition. Molly seized her hand before she could touch her.

'Sydney!' she gasped. 'It was Deviega… one of his men.' She pointed to the open window in the carriage. The train had ground to a halt in a built up, urban area. 'They fled off into the city. You must stop them!'

'We will,' promised Sydney. 'But we need to make sure you're okay.' She glanced at the patch of blood, low down on Molly's blouse. 'Where did they stab you?'

'It doesn't matter!' she wheezed. 'You've got to go after them. They said that…' Her gaze darted up, registering that Nigel was now frozen in the doorway of the carriage. She leaned in and whispered in Sydney's ear. 'They said that your assistant would be next. '

Something dangerous flashed in Sydney's eyes. 'You know where he is?'

Molly nodded. 'He's gone to a cave near Meerutan, where he believes the Ruby was hidden. You have to go there and stop him for good, before it is Nigel who pays.'

A steely anger stole across Sydney's countenance. Molly's message had hit home.

'Go,' she whispered, her voice faltering.

Syd allowed an anxious train guard to takeover care of the injured woman. 'I know where the cave is,' she told Derek. 'We're going to hunt him down.'

'Right,' said Derek, tucking his gun back in its holster. 'This train is going to be delayed while this mess is sorted out. We go by road.'

Sydney glanced out of the window. 'We must be in Kanpur. Whoever did this has probably disappeared into the city by now. We'll never catch them.' She sighed heavily.

Suspicion glimmered and she glanced back at Molly, who was not letting the medically unqualified guard touch her. 'How do you know where Deviega is? And his intentions?'

Molly went a shade paler. 'I've been trailing one of his henchmen since I got to Calcutta and I bugged his phone….ah!' She gasped suddenly and Sydney flinched in sympathy.

'Don't talk if it hurts...'

'I don't care…I wanted to… kill him myself, but they got to me first… now it's down to you Sydney.'

In Sydney's agitated state of mind, this explanation was good enough. 'I'll get him,' she assured the redhead. She picked up her knife from where it lay, discarded and bloody on the floor, and pushed her way out of the carriage.

'What are you doing?' hissed Nigel. She shoved past him, leaving him chasing her back towards the compartment. 'That knife is evidence… now it's only going to have your prints on it'

'I'm going to need it,' snarled Sydney.

'Whatever for?' pleaded Nigel. 'Getting Deviega is Derek's job. We're supposed to be finding a relic, remember?'

Sydney glared at him.

'We don't need to go back to the cave,' he continued. 'We know that the Ruby isn't there!'

'He's got a point, Sydney,' said Derek. 'Getting Deviega isn't your responsibility. Now I have an exact location, I'm going to call for back up. I'd appreciate your help, but I'm not forcing you to come with me this time.'

'I'm coming with you,' said Sydney grimly. 'You don't need any other backup.'

'This is madness!' shouted Nigel. 'You're relic hunter, not a bounty hunter!'

'You don't have to come.'

'Yes I do,' muttered Nigel. 'I just don't think that we should, that's all.'

'And neither do I!' interjected Preston. 'Nigel is right. What on earth are you doing going after that nasty, depraved criminal?'

'I came here to sort out unfinished business. I don't want to waste any more time.' Pulling on her clothes, Sydney indicated the pile of Miss Carraway's papers. 'If you're coming, Nigel, you'd better gather that lot together. If not, you can travel on to Meerutan with Preston. Wait for me there.'

Nigel, grumbling loudly, bundled up the research, as Derek and Sydney dashed off to find a new form of transport. He couldn't help think that all that 'flirting' yesterday had been triggered mainly by Sydney's boredom on a long journey, or possibly by the joy of annoying Derek. Now something much more interesting had turned up, her passion, at least the 'romantic' part of it, was gone with the wind.

'Great. Now I'm Nigel Bailey, 'boy toy', to her as well...hmph! As if I haven't been from the start... '

Preston, still somewhat bewildered by the whole proceedings, pulled on his outer garments slowly and sat down with a yawn. Nigel was scrambling on the floor, picking up the last of the letters, when Preston placed a hand on his shoulder

'I don't think we should go with them.'

Nigel turned quickly, startled by the brotherly touch and the resolute words. Preston recoiled, and regarded him anxiously.

'Sorry, Preston. If Sydney goes, I go. Somebody has to watch her back.'

'You're employed to be her teaching assistant, not to put your life at risk day after day. Chasing around the world after relics maybe _just_ about comes within your remit, but this…'

'I know,' said Nigel quietly.

'You care about her a lot, don't you?'

Nigel said nothing as he picked up the cardboard box.

'I don't suppose it would make the difference if I told you that _I_ didn't want you to go?'

Nigel exhaled slowly. Sydney was snogging him one minute, then arguing with him, hell-bent on revenge, and Preston was on his side: his world was turned upside down. 'Sorry. But _you_ don't have to come, really you don't. I'd rather you didn't… and I mean that in a nice way, honest.'

Preston gave a thin smile, and ran his fingers over a lined forehead. Nigel thought he looked tired and worn, no longer quite young.

Nigel picked up the box, and made for the door. He turned to say goodbye.

'I'm coming with you, Nigel,' said Preston, stirring himself and quickly shoving his belongings into his travelling bag. 'I don't have any choice in the matter either. If that woman insists on leading my brother to…to… unnecessary showdowns with international crimelords, for some reason I feel compelled to be there. _I_ need to watch _your_ back.'

Nigel's first instinct was to argue, but he couldn't quite find the words. 'Okay,' he replied. His second word shocked him even more: 'thanks.'

'Let's go, then,' said Preston jauntily, taking the lead as they departed down the corridor towards the platform. 'Once more into the breach, et cetera! Really, Nigel, I had no idea your life was quite so stressful…'

………………………

_**1875: Kanpur station.**_

_Nigel Finchley and Captain Dirk Lloyd, their scant luggage in hands, jumped down onto the platform just as the steam train was pulling out of Kampur station._

_Grabbing Nigel, Dirk rushed over into the cover of the ticket office, and peeped back out again, watching intently as the train accelerated away. Nobody else got off, and there were no signs of the two big-game hunters on the platform. Dirk nodded to himself, satisfied._

'_Why did we alight here?' asked Nigel. 'Not that I'm not pleased to see the back of that bumpy, smelly railway, but I thought we were going to travel as far as we could on it?'_

'_I didn't want to worry you needlessly, my friend, but De Veleye was on that train. He was after the Ruby.'_

'_De Veleye!' gasped Nigel. 'I didn't even see him.'_

'_I know you didn't, even though he walked past our compartment two dozen times. If I'd taken my finger off the trigger of my revolver for a second, he would have tried something.' _

'_I didn't even know you had a revolver!'_

'_Believe me, De Veleye does. However, I think we've managed to give him the slip.'_

_Nigel seated himself on one of the waiting room benches, processing this information. He'd actually rather enjoyed the train journey, reading his book and watching as the wondrous sights and sounds of India sped by. 'Thank you,' he sighed. 'Once again, without you I would have lost the Ruby. But how do we get to Meerutan now? He's going to be there before us!'_

_Dirk settled down next to him. 'Maybe we shouldn't go to Meerutan quite yet. What's the point of taking it to where it's most likely to be stolen?'_

'_It won't be stolen, not if it is put back where it supposed to be, in a special hiding place,' said Nigel. 'It is what Miss Carraway wanted, and the honour of her friend's family is at stake.' He looked up at Dirk. 'Besides, I thought you had business in Meerutan?'_

'_Oh yes,' said Dirk. 'I'm going to make sure De Veleye spends the rest of his days behind bars and…well, there is another reason, but that's not anything you need to know.' He raised his eyebrows shiftily, as if inviting Nigel to inquire further. He didn't. _

'_I just wanted you to be sure about coming with me,' concluded Dirk. 'The journey is going to be difficult and dangerous.'_

'_It sounds like it's been dangerous enough already.' Off the train, without the cooling movement of the air fanning him from the window, Nigel realized what a stiflingly warm day it was. Drops of perspiration begin trickling down towards his eyes. His uniform, particularly the thick, black wool trousers, seemed exasperatingly heavy._

'_I've come so far,' he said softly, pushing a lock of hair back from his forehead and wondering what a state he must look. 'I can't give up now. How far have we still to go?'_

'_It will be three, maybe four days, solid riding. Do you think you can handle it?'_

_Nigel, despite everything, bristled at the prospect of defeat: 'Of course I can! As long as you don't go on about pursuing foxes, and the 'thrill of the chase.' Preston was always raving about horses and hounds as if riding was the only thing worth doing.' He curled his lip comically, trying to muster some humour at the memory of his brother's silly ways. He recalled the time when Preston had come-a-cropper while leaping over the lowest section of the wall around the Finchley estate, and ended up face-first in a large pile of dung. He nearly laughed. Then he remembered that he had a habit of falling off even more than Preston._

'_Um, I'm not a marvellous rider, I'm afraid. Horses and I don't really get on.' _

'_Don't worry Nigel,' said Dirk, rising with a grin. 'There won't be any horses. We're riding elephants, remember?'_

…………………………

'_How am I supposed to get up there?' squeaked Nigel, as Dirk pointed to the two commanding beasts that he had just hired for their trek. 'He's enormous!'_

'_She's quite a little one,' commented Dirk, pointing to the smaller of the two. 'Her handler will help you. Just go and ask nicely.'_

'_What a lovely elephant!' Nigel complimented the handler through gritted teeth. 'What's her name?'_

_Nigel, to his shame, did not catch the long, Indian name given to the elephant. However, he did understand as the handler, who spoke only a little, broken English, told him the elephant had been named after the heroine of an obscure folktale, who wept her life away seeking her long-lost love._

'_I think I'll call her Ariadne,' reflected Nigel. 'In Greek mythology, Theseus abandoned Ariadne, who yearned for him.'_

_This important decision made, Nigel nervously approached the elephant. It was a little under seven foot tall and was, indeed, quite small for her kind. The handler smiled congenially, and beckoned Nigel on._

'_Um, is it safe?' He jumped as the elephant registered his presence, waved her trunk in his direction and raised a tree trunk-like front leg. Nigel, on reflex, sprinted three yards in the opposite direction. _

'_She's not going to kick you!' laughed Dirk. 'She's trying to help you climb up.'_

'_I can't climb up there. I don't like heights! I'll feel giddy… '_

'_Is there any form of transport you do agree with?'_

'_I'll let you know when they invent one.' _

_Summoning a gritty determination, Nigel obeyed when the handler summoned him back over. Using the elephant's leg as a foothold, he artlessly clambered halfway up the elephant's sturdy, coarse and surprisingly hairy side, reaching up and clinging onto its leather and woven fabric saddle. Flailing for another foothold, he felt several firm hands pushing him up from behind. Before long, he was sprawled on his stomach over the elephant's back._

'_I suppose you could travel like that, my friend,' observed Dirk. 'The view might be rather better if you sit up, though.'_

_Nigel could hear his mishaps had caused general mirth among the populace gathered in the marketplace. His cheeks glowing bright red, he scrambled into a sitting position, and gave a little wave to indicate that he was entirely in control of proceedings. _

_It certainly did seem like a bloody long way down, so he decided it would be better if he looked ahead of him and at the elephant, rather than ever looking down. He tentatively patted her on the back of her neck. 'Hello Ariadne.'_

_Dirk mounted a particularly large, he-elephant, and swatted its backside to show it who was boss._

_Nigel was unimpressed: 'You know what they say about men with big elephants, Dirk? They're making up for…um, you know, inadequacies elsewhere!'_

'_Shut it, Finchley!' shouted Dirk. 'You're just jealous that mine's so much bigger than yours!'_

_'I'm not jealous at all!' retorted Nigel. 'Ariadne's far prettier!' The female elephant swung her trunk in appreciation and took a tiny step forward. _

'_Sweet Jesus!' As the momentum caused him to lurch, Nigel clung onto the saddle, his knuckles white. He was convinced he was about to fly straight over the elephants head. _

'_Tell her to stop! Tell her to stop!'_

………………………………

**_1875: Lucknow station_**

_It was late in the evening when Sydney and Sir Preston's train came to the end of the line. 'All change, please, all change!' The guard walked through the first-class carriages, encouraging the wealthier passengers to alight. Preston stepped down from the carriage, ahead of Sydney and loitered awkwardly. He heard a dainty cough. 'Aren't you going to help me down, Preston?' _

'_Oh…oh, yes, of course!' He offered his hand to Sydney Carraway, and she alighted the train with all the dependent grace of a debutante at her first ball. ' I thought you hated me doing this,' he hissed. 'When I offered you my hand at the station in Calcutta, you slapped me!' Sydney had been in a particularly foul mood with him at that point._

'_Everything has its time and place,' sneered Sydney, beneath a fixed grin. 'Now, pick up my luggage and pretend you're my adoring husband. I'm going to talk to the train driver.'_

_'Surely you're not going to carry through that madcap scheme of… stealing the locomotive?'_

_Sydney imparted a disdainful glare that indicated she was going to do just that. Dressed in a practical plain blouse and a long, straight, navy-blue skirt, however, she knew she looked far too businesslike for the next stage of her plan. She pulled a lace parasol from her bag, and shook it open with an aggression that was more appropriate for one wielding a lethal weapon. She then tripped up the platform towards the engine, evoking an air of 'joie de vivre'._

'_Help!' panicked Preston. 'What is she going to do?'_

'_Well, hello there, Sir!' Sydney had to wave and shout for some time before the engine driver noticed her. The locomotive was still in full stream._

'_Hello there, Miss,' he said, doffing his cap. 'I'm afraid I'm going to have respectfully ask you to step away from the engine. It isn't safe and the smoke might spoil your pretty clothes.'_

_Sydney pouted. 'I don't mind. I'm fascinated by the iron monster! I'd love to come up into your cabin and see how it works.'_

_The driver, a rotund, moustachioed little chap, scratched his head, and surveyed Sydney's long, fluttering eyelashes, sparkling brown eyes, and girlish eagerness. She twirled her lace parasol. How could he resist? _

'_Alright, Miss. Up you come. Be careful not to touch anything, or to get your pretty clothes dirty.'_

_Sydney sprang into the cab. 'So how does it work?' _

_Surprised by such a practical question from a lady, the driver rubbed his chin bemusedly and went through the basics._

'_First, I have to make the fire nice and hot. I have my fireman to keep stoking it up with coal from the tender behind: I couldn't do without my fireman! Then I push this reverser - we call it the Johnson bar – , turn this valve all the way clockwise, blow the whistle and released the brakes. After that, all you need to do is open the throttle to get the engine moving. Puff puff! Off you go!' _

'_Wonderful!' gushed Sydney. 'So is she all heated up and ready to fly?'_

'_Just about,' smiled the engine driver. 'I'm only going to shunt her as far as the siding though. My guard just detached the carriages.'_

'_Surely there is time for my husband to see this? He'd love all the shiny workings. He adores science, just as I do.'_

'_Is that your husband?' The engine driver had spotted Preston, who was loitering on the platform, nervously twirling his top hat. _

'_It sure is! Please may he come up too?' _

'_Oh, I don't know…'_

'_Please?' The pout returned._

_The engine driver glanced nervously towards the ticket office. None of his superiors were around. What harm could it do? 'Just quickly, then, Miss.' He shouted to Preston: 'Come on up, sir.'_

'_Me?' Preston pointed to his chest, disconcerted. 'Oh no, you've made a mistake. I hate anything do with new-fangled industries…'_

_Sydney reached right out of the engine, seized her 'husband' by his collar, and yanked him up onto the footplate. 'He just adores trains!' she beamed. 'Oh my goodness, is that the director of the East Indian Railway Company?'_

'_Where?' The engine driver leaned out of the cabin in alarm. As he did so, one of Sydney's buttoned boots contacted firmly with his backside. He flew unceremoniously onto the platform, landing unceremoniously on his rather large tummy. _

_'Ooof!'_

_Sydney yanked forward the Johnson bar with all her might, and whirled around the cylinder cocks as the driver pulled himself to his feet, utterly confounded._

'_I'm so sorry,' she cried. 'What a terrible mistake!' _

_The poor railway employee speechlessly attempted to clamber back upon the footplate. Sydney punched him on the chin. As he crashed back again, she pulled twice on the whistle and released the brakes. She then jammed down the lever which opened the throttle. The locomotive lurched forward with a sudden, stuttering thrust._

_'Thievies! Robbers! ' hollered the driver, shaking his fist._

_'Thank you, kind sir! We'll bring it back,' shouted Sydney in return, as the train accelerated off up the line._

'_This is preposterous!' squealed Preston, who was pressed back against the half-door on the other side, goggling with disbelief. Sydney thrust a shovel into his hands._

'_No it's not. This is progress: the wonders of modern technology! You can be fireman.'_

'_Of course I can't. Baronets don't shovel!'_

'_You are going to shovel coal from here to Meerutan, Preston Finchley, or I'll wait until we're going over a particularly high viaduct and throw you right out of that window!'_

_Preston realized there was absolutely no room for debate. He took the shovel, removed a dainty amount of coal from the tender to the furnace, and then stopped._

'_I'm going to go to jail for this, you know?' He moaned with despair. 'Again!'_

'_No you won't,' said Sydney, easing forward a lever and looking very in control. 'Neither of us will. Didn't you wonder how I knew that the railroad was built all the way to Meerutan?'_

_Preston looked vacant. _

'_My father built it! He's a major shareholder in the East Indian Railway Company. I realised they would never let me take the engine if I asked, but they sure as hell won't prosecute the daughter of the man who bankrolls the business! We're not in any trouble at all, Preston.'_

_'We're not?'_

'_No. Now shovel! And put your back into it!'_

……………………………………

_**1875: The Malabi Plain.**_

_Nigel Finchley became very fond of Ariadne and he almost enjoyed the next few days. Granted, elephants were even smellier than horses, but Ariadne was strong and steady, and far less primed to go charging off after foxes than Preston's hunting steeds. She was also more predictable: Nigel learned that if he wanted her to go to the left, he simply tickled her left ear. If he wanted to go to the right, he did the same to the other. He liked it, and she liked it. She would swing her trunk in appreciation, and trumpet softly. _

_The ride was hardly smooth, but Nigel became used to sitting in the saddle, and found he could even concentrate on his book if the landscape was not enough to entertain him. He felt like a hero out of The Arabian Nights - or Miss Carraway's book!_

_By the end of the third day riding, Nigel knew the ropes: when they stopped, he climbed down from his elephant - something he'd almost mastered without looking too undignified. He then shouted 'Ow!', and collapsed in a heap on the floor, while his legs seized up for the next ten minutes._

_After that, he, Dirk, and the handlers made a little camp and got very merry on Indian pale ale_

_On the third and final night, Nigel consumed several bottles of plonk, and was just nodding off, when one of the handlers let out a terrible cry._

'_What is it?'_

_The handler, whip in hand, had already plunged off into the darkness, and his companion was communicating frantically with Dirk._

'_One of the elephants has gone AWOL.__ Don't worry… stay here!' shouted Dirk. He then charged into the night with the second handler. _

_Nigel, not liking the prospect of being left in the middle of nowhere alone, especially with the prospect of a marauding elephant on the loose, grabbed a beacon torch, lit it in the fire, and hurried off after them._

'_Where do think she's gone?' panted Nigel, as he gained on Dirk._

'_I told you to stay behind, didn't I?' _

'_To be trampled by your nasty big elephant? I'd rather not!' Dirk's elephant had been the friskier of the two and had nearly wandered off twice before. Nigel was rather afraid of it._

'_It's not my elephant that has scarpered. It's yours.'_

'_Ariadne!'_

'_Yes. That's why she's called Ariadne, or whatever it is in Indian. Ariadne really is pining for her long-lost love. Ever since she was separated from one particular man-elephant, she has disappeared from time to time, only to be found bellowing his name in the moonlight.'_

'_Poor Ariadne,' sighed Nigel. 'I wonder she heard him calling, far, far faraway?'_

_Dirk snorted. 'You'll fall for anything, won't you? She's just an elephant, Nigel. She probably went off to find some water.'_

'_Oh.'_

_Nigel followed the three men onwards into the night, glad that the ground was mainly dusty desert, easy to traverse in the darkness. Before long they heard the sound of trickling water, and reached the edge of a narrow stream._

'_Can you see her?' demanded Dirk. _

_None of them could, and he and the handlers headed downstream towards a larger pool that reflected the shine of their torches._

_Nigel, however, was suddenly very tired: the tepid night air closed in around him, as if pressing him down towards slumber. Unable to continue, he slumped to the ground by the edge of the stream. _

_Breathing deeply, he found himself trying to remember where Miss Carraway had travelled by elephant in her book. Was it in India…or was it in Africa? He couldn't remember. He tried to picture Sydney on an elephant, forging onwards, ever determined, her mind set on retrieving some hidden treasure from the ancient world. An image of her popped into his head, but it was a vague, almost unfamiliar one._

_As he racked his weary brain, the flaming beacon in his hand, which had been dwindling in a gentle breeze, flickered and went out._

'_Dirk?' Nigel called out apprehensively in the blackness. There was no reply, just the waft of the air and the omnipresent buzz of the mosquitos. He could no longer see the glimmer of their torches. He was utterly alone._

_Any other time he would have panicked at his solitude. As sleepiness enveloped him, however, he was struck instead by a notion infinitely more terrible: he couldn't remember what Sydney looked like! He shut his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, desperately trying to recall the contours of her face. He couldn't. But then, he reminded himself, he had only known her for two days!_

_Something snapped. He cursed out loud. The true realization that he was lost, in the dark, in the middle of an Indian desert struck him._

'_Dirk! Captain Lloyd? … Anyone?'_

'_I can't remember her!' thought Nigel. 'And now I'm lost, and I'm going to starve to death all alone. Nobody's honour is worth this… my own certainly isn't! I'd say that if I never saw another desert it wouldn't be soon enough, but it's too dark to even see it! If only I could remember her face…'_

_Nigel's miserable meditations were shattered as he sensed an enormous presence behind him. He jumped as something lightly rubbed against his shoulder, a rough surface chafing the fabric of his jacket. A warm, harsh, and rather smelly breath brushed against his neck._

'_Ariadne?'_

_Nigel staggered to his feet, terrified the massive animal would trample him to death in the dark._

_The reply came as a rasping sigh. It, indeed, was she._

'_Hello, old girl,' Nigel groped ahead of him, realizing that the elephant, only dimly lit by clouded moonlight, was so close she had been practically standing on top of him. He wondered if her acute sense of smell was the only thing which had saved his life._

_His hand wandered accidentally onto her enourmous face, hovering dangerously near to him. Pulling it away quickly, he realised his fingers were damp: a large, pool of water, was descending down the ridged creases of her cheek._

'_Ariadne… you're crying!' Nigel recollected reading in a natural history book as a child that elephants cried on the loss of their loved ones. 'You're crying for your long-lost love…' _

_Lifting his hand instinctively from her face to his own, he realised a tear had escaped down his cheek too. _

'_I wonder if either of us will ever see those we miss again?' He could've sworn he heard the elephant sob in sympathy. 'Can you remember what he looks like? I can't picture Sydney…not as I want to. I wish I could see her face …'_

_Nigel started as he felt the air move again. In the darkness and his depths of despair, it was all so dreamlike that he was no longer scared of the elephant's awesome power. Ariadne's dexterous trunk nudged him towards her side and a scuffle in the dust below conveyed that she had had lifted her front leg, so that he could climb on her back._

_Scramling up was the last thing Nigel remembered that night. His surprise at waking up back at the camp the next morning, however, was not half as great as Dirk and the handler's had been when they returned in the silent, early hours. Believing they had lost both the boy and the elephant, they found them both waiting there: Nigel fast asleep, lying on his front across Ariadne's back._

………………………………

_Dirk and Nigel finally reached Meerutan as night fell on the fourth day of their trek. Ariadne halted dutifully outside a grand, but faded-looking residence on the edges of the town._

'_Where are we?' asked Nigel. 'Who lives here?'_

'_This is the home of Meena from Meerutan,' said Dirk, dropping down from his titanic elephant. 'I just hope she's happy to see me!'_

'_Happy to see you?' exclaimed Nigel. 'You didn't tell me you knew her!'_

'_Oh yes,' grinned Dirk. 'She's all part of my unfinished business…' he winked. 'Women bewitch us all, my friend.'_

_Nigel shuffled his boots uneasily as Dirk thumped manfully on the door. After a second, footsteps were heard approaching up a long passageway, then the door creaked open an inch._

'_Captain Lloyd!' The door was flung open, and a little bearded man, his head wrapped in a turban, stood in the opening, _

'_Apartjita! How are you, my old friend?' _

'_Oh, not so good, Captain, not so good.' The servant looked momentarily distraught, but managed a hopeful smile. 'You have come to see Miss Meena? She has need of you now!'_

'_She has? Why?'_

_Suddenly, the old man vanished from sight, surprise on his wrinkled face as he was snatched from behind. In his place appeared a slip of a girl, no older than Nigel. Her hair was long, dark and silky, like Sydney Carraway's. Her features were perfectly petite, verging on doll-like, although an air of studied intellectualism that betrayed inner gravitas. Her dress was far from faded: she wore a beautiful bright pink sari, and a light, embroidered headdress, fastened with a sparkling, silver jewel. _

_The beautiful girl looked like she was about to explode with rage: 'To be plagued by one cockroach is bad enough, but two in one day!'_

_She raised her hand and slapped Dirk viciously on the jaw. _

_The army captain rubbed his chin and grinned. 'Hello Meena!'_

_'Did he deserve that?' asked Nigel, fast backing behind a pillar, just in case Meena socked all male visitors, or maybe just Englishmen._

_Dirk and Meena answered in unison: 'Yes!'_

……………………………………………

**Present-day: Kanpur station**

By the time Nigel and Preston alighted from the train, Derek had already pulled up outside the station in a 4x4 range rover.

'That was quick!' said Preston. 'I suppose hire-centres give priority treatment to you Interpol sorts.'

Derek sniggered, and Sydney's wry look indicated that Derek might not have appropriated the truck in an entirely conventional fashion.

There was a moment of silence, and then the penny dropped.

'You didn't steal it did you!' exclaimed Preston.

'I have no doubt they did,' mumbled Nigel. 'At least they're not making us ride elephants.'

Sydney raised her eyebrows. 'I've _never_ made you ride an elephant,' she pointed out. 'Well, not yet, anyway. And don't worry, Derek has exemption from certain…laws. I'd have objected too, but this time…it's necessary.' Sydney fixed her eyes on the road ahead, her mind on hunting down her enemy.

'No doubt it is,' replied Nigel dryly, and he casually wondered quite what had made him think about elephants. It occurred to him that they seemed like rather nice animals, and it mightn't actually be that bad. Preston still looked thoroughly agitated.

They ploughed off through the traffic of the city, which was now bustling with early-morning market stalls, and then into the arid, desert like landscape beyond.

After a while, despite the bumpiness of the road, Nigel began thinking about research again. 'Somebody's got to still think about finding this damn ruby,' he grumbled to himself. He handed an unopened packet from the box of the Carraway papers back to Preston. 'Here, make yourself useful.' Preston nodded and opened the envelope.

Nigel returned to 'The Fortunes of Nigel,' picking out the cheerily dated passages, and the little thoughts written beside them. Although the handwriting had moved from childish to neat and slanted as the dates progressed in the 1870's, by the autumn of 1875 he detected another change: the handwriting had become unsteady, often nigh unreadable. 'I suppose he was traveling at sea,' Nigel told himself. 'It must have been rough.' He recalled his dream on the plane, and the jolting of the truck began to make him feel a little dizzy. Unsure whether continuing reading was a good idea, he ploughed on through to the start of Chapter 25. Here he spotted another date, in a very faint hand. It was the latest he had seen: _'11th November, 1875.'_

There were no other handwritten words. Nigel read the printed passage that the date marked, and slammed the book shut. Nobody noticed as the colour drained from his face.

After a few minutes, Preston, who had been thoroughly absorbed in the Carraway papers, handed yet another yellowing sheet back to Nigel. 'Look at this. It's a receipt sent to Miss Carraway for 200 rupees, which she gave to All Saints church in Meerutan. Do you think it's of any significance.'

Nigel took the piece of paper, which flapped in the breeze from the open window as the truck tore down and now open road.

'I don't know,' he said slowly. 'Syd. Take a look at this.'

Sydney, who had leaned back in her seat to take an interest, twisted to get a better look.

'We know Sydney Carraway was a great lover of Indian culture,' she said. 'But why should she give money to the _church_ in Meerutan? Surely that was a rich, Imperial institution?'

'There _were_ some Indian Christians in this part of the country. There still are. But, I was wondering the same thing...'

He shuddered and handed the paper back to Preston.

Sydney watched her assistant interestedly. She noticed his face looked tense and pained, as if he had a headache. He hadn't complained of one. 'What is it?'

'Nothing,' said Nigel, slightly irate. 'It was a gust from the open window: it sent a shiver down my spine. And this road surface is terrible…'

'As long as you're okay…' Her mind returned to the hunt. 'I wonder if the church is still there? I think we should check it out.'

'Fine,' said Nigel, distractedly gazing out of the window. 'Before or after your unfinished business?'

'After, I'm afraid. ' Sydney tried to encourage Nigel with an angelic smile, but he did not see. Instead her eyes were met by a glare of uncharacteristic strength from Preston as he peered up from the new document.

'You're a determined woman Professor Fox,' he said accusingly.

Just then there was a buzz from Derek's radio. He picked it up and barked: 'Yeah?'

He listened and frowned. 'Fine. Send back up,' he instructed. Then he hung up.

'Boy, I bet your mother has a small phone bill!' joked Sydney. Derek shot her a look of disapproval and mild hurt. 'That was Interpol,' he said matter-of-factly. 'A body has been retrieved from the train stopped at Lucknow.'

'A body! So Molly died?'

'It was a man's body,' continued Derek. 'He was found stabbed. Locked in the toilet.'

'What happened to Molly?' demanded Nigel.

Derek shrugged. 'They didn't say. I guess it's not my 'need to know.''

Sydney went to give Nigel a withering 'what's with this guy?' look, but Nigel had once again reverted to staring out of the window, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon.

Sydney, therefore, said nothing as the truck shuddered forward across the increasingly sparse and desert-like landscape: closer, ever closer, to the fateful cave.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	15. Part fourteen: Providence

**Disclaimers: Don't own Relic Hunter etc.**

**Thanks for the reviews.**

**21st Century: Malibi Mountains.**

The Range-Rover roared to a halt at the bottom of the track that led into the mountains.

'This is as far as you can get by road,' said Syd. She glanced back over her shoulder. 'Recognise it, Nige?'

'Of course I do!' scoffed Nigel. 'It was barely a week ago that we worked out that coming to this cave was a complete waste of time'

'Today _won't_ be time wasted.' Sydney leapt out of the truck, and checked her knife in her boot. Despite wiping, it was still flecked red with blood.

Derek primed his Beretta. 'How far is it to the cave?'

'Another hours trek from here,' admitted Sydney. A hand grasped her arm and pulled her back.

'What is it?'

Nigel looked earnestly into her eyes. 'I don't want to go to that cave again. It's…it's haunted me, ever since…' He broke off, cursing his foolishness under his breath.

'Don't come then,' said Sydney kindly. She remembered what she had seen in the cave before. She also felt unhappy at the prospect of Nigel returning to it.

'But what if you need me?'

'I don't need you, Nigel.' The words weren't supposed to be cutting, but he looked hurt. 'This isn't a relic hunt.'

'What is it, Sydney? A vendetta?' Nigel lowered his tone. 'It's exactly as I told you: Deviega gets under your skin. But he isn't worth it.' Nigel appealed to Derek. 'Where are the rest of your team? This isn't a relic hunt - you don't need Sydney.'

'Your call, Syd?' said Derek. 'Should I wait for backup?'

'NO!' Sydney glared at Nigel. 'That guy killed Dr Newell. He's been walking around free for twenty years too long… maybe more. I've got Sydney Carraway's revenge to take as well.'

'Don't blame Miss Carraway. I'm sure she was capable of reaping her own revenge!'

'I don't want to hear this now, Nigel. I'm going.'

'Fine!' Nigel piled back into the truck, where Preston was hovering. 'Go then!'

'Ready?' said Derek.

'One sec,' Sydney slipped her head into the back of the car, hovering for a moment. Nigel puffed and didn't even look at her.

'I'm sorry, but I've got to finish this. When it's over, we _will_ find the Ruby.'

Nigel was silent.

'What?' She scrutinized her assistant, trying to read the concentrated scowl that refused to look her way. A notion struck her: 'Nigel….do you know where the Ruby is?'

'I don't care about the bloody Ruby,' he snapped.

Sydney recoiled at the force of his anger. 'Okay …let's talk about this later.'

Nigel squinted up at her, still deeply unhappy. 'Yes, let's do that. We've got a few other pressing….'issues' to sort out, haven't we?'

She paused for thought. What was the gut and telling her? Everything was such a swirl, she just couldn't tell.

'Take care,' she said finally. 'If you see anybody coming, hide.'

Nigel nodded, and with that she was gone.

………………………

_**1875: Meerutan**_

_Meena shrieked as Dirk seized her bodily. Strong, muscular arms enveloped her. She ceased to resist as he planted his lips on hers. The kiss was wild, hot and frenzied._

_After a moment of guilty pleasure, she shoved the stocky man away, and slapped him._

'_How dare you!' She seethed. 'You left with no explanation, and my life went to ruin! Go! I'd rather face my demons alone, than with you!'_

_For good measure, she slapped him again._

'_Ow! Will you stop that? It's a good job I'd never hit a lady!'_

'_Oh, really?'_

_Meena pouted, her arms folded. Feeling slightly safer, Dirk proceeded: 'I know what demon haunts you. It's De Veleye.'_

_Her eyes wandered downwards, hiding their fear. 'He came here this morning, asking for me. I didn't see him, but I know he'll be back. He took so much for me last time. And now he wants all I've got left…' _

'_I know what he wants,' said Dirk. 'Nigel?'_

_Nigel peeped out from behind the pillar: 'me?'_

'_The…you know what?'_

'_Oh!' Nigel reached into his top pocket and pulled out the Ruby, which caught the light of an elaborately shaped brass lantern that hung over the door. It sparkled radiantly. Meena rushed forward, her hands raised in astonishment._

'_The Diamond Ruby!'_

_He handed it to her and she promptly threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on both his cheeks. _

_'Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Who are you? You must be a friend of Miss Carraway's! I can never thank her enough for this… I can never thank you enough!' _

_For the first time, she observed Nigel in the wavering lamp light, and was startled. He seemed little older in years than she. Dressed as a soldier, like the formidable Captain Lloyd, she thought him particularly handsome, his hair thick and dark, and his skin very pale, completely unlined. Nevertheless, she discerned a world-weary aspect that belonged to a man who had learned frightening truths that only years, apparently, could tell._

_Inspired by a mixture of awe and sympathy, she kissed him again, this time on the lips. _

_Nigel blushed. Dirk grunted jealously: 'Pleased with my present for you, Meena?'_

_Meena, remembering the cherished jewel in her hands, stepped away and ran her fingers over its smooth edges. 'My family paid so dearly once this was lost. Our honour was vested in keeping it safe. Once he gave it away, Achyuta took his own life, and my poor father died of shame and a broken heart. It's just mother, I and Apartjita now. And that poor old servant cannot defend us…not now he's come back.'_

'_De Veleye won't hurt you again,' vowed Dirk. 'I'll kill him before he lays a hand on you.'_

'_If you hadn't left, he never would have done!' she spat. 'Right now, all that matters is the Ruby.'_

'_Why didn't you tell me about it before?' _

_Meena laughed ruefully. 'I would have done, if you'd stayed around long enough! I thought you were different, but you turned out to be just like the rest of the British tyrants.'_

'_Sorry,' mumbled Dirk. 'I'm back now, aren't I?'_

'_You are,' said Meena emotionlessly. 'And you're going to court my forgiveness by taking that Ruby back to where it belongs. There is a cave in the Malabi Mountains,about 15 miles away, where it must be hidden before De Veleye gets his hands on it. '_

'_Tonight?' Nigel peeped into the house to see an inviting, low-lit room, with draped fabrics and plush, woven cushions. Foodstuffs were arranged in the middle, on a low table, emitting enticing, spicy odours that made his empty stomach complain loudly. He'd come a long way to return that jewel to its cave, but he had his priorities: 'Won't it wait until tomorrow?'_

_Meena returned her gaze to Nigel, leaning wearily up against the door frame. _

'_Of course,' she replied, trying not to stare. 'What am I thinking of. Come in, come in. You must have food and rest.'_

_Dirk grinned as he crossed her threshold, and tapped his Colt revolver: 'Don't worry, Meena. You'll be quite safe tonight! I'll return your pretty stone to the mountains in the morning.'_

…………………………………

_It was well past midnight, when Nigel's uneasy slumber was interrupted by a piercing scream. There was a crashing and then a loud, resounding bang._

_He jumped up in alarm. Had Dirk just shot somebody… or had Dirk been shot? The room whirled around him, but he forced himself to stumble towards the door. As it swung wide open, he collapsed back onto the floor._

_There, in the opening, stood Meena, her form ethereally backlit by candlelight. _

'_Lieutenant Finchley!' she rushed to his side, grasping his hand. 'Are you alright?'_

'_I'm well…quite well,' gasped Nigel. 'What's going on?'_

_He felt Meena's little fingers shaking._

'_It's De Veleye,' she whispered. 'He's here…he came for me, but Dirk came to the rescue…He pushed me from the room, and locked the door…then there were the shots…'_

'_My God!' Nigel scrambled to his feet. 'What happened?'_

'_I don't know!' He saw the terror inscribed on her petite features. She thrust the Ruby in his hand. 'All is lost. Unless… you can take the Ruby. Take it to the cave…'_

'_Alone? Now…'_

_Meena hesitated. 'You are a soldier?' She remembered her unsettling first impression of Nigel, and that he had been so tired he had hardly finished his dinner. 'Are you well enought to make the journey…'_

'_Yes… it's just…' Nigel wondered how long he could disguise the painful tightness in his chest and just how increasingly weak and breathless he felt. 'Why should I do this?' he considered. 'I'm no more a soldier than you are.' Two powerful words formed on the tip of his tongue: 'I can't.'_

_He never articulated them. The image of Sydney, dancing with him in the ballroom at Grosvenor Square, flooded into his mind. Her face! He could remember her face! As if triggered by the graceful movements of her feet as she waltzed in his mind, he heard her voice, and her words. She was beautiful, intelligent, ravishing…_

_He smiled. She was the most amazing person he'd ever met – and they were a perfect matching of minds. He was assisting her. That was why he came._

_The girl's eyes pleaded to him. 'You'll do it?'_

'_Of course,' he said, disguising the quaver in his voice. 'Let's go.'_

'_Thank you. Thank you so much! The cave is hidden up a raveen.' She thrust the Ruby and a piece of paper in his hand. 'This is the solution to a code. You'll need it to lock the jewel away safe again.'_

'_How will I find my way in the dark?' He desperately hoped that she would offer to come with him. The notion of hiking off into an Indian desert alone - again – was a truly frightening prospect. _

_However, Meena was not Sydney._

'_At this time of the year, to get to the right pass into the Malibi Mountains by night, you head straight for Punavarsu…oh, I don't know what you call it in English. It's a star, I'll show you…'_

_They tiptoed from the house. A dreadful silence seeped from Meena's locked chamber, and Nigel sensed her utter a silent prayer._

_Once outside, they ran to the cover of the bushes where she pointed to the brightest star in the Gemini cluster. It was a twinkling giant, hanging low in the sky. _

_Nigel scrutinised it, trying to memorise its position. 'I think the Greeks sometimes associated that star with …Theseus!'_

_Everything suddenly made sense to Nigel. Of course he wouldn't have to go alone: all he had to do was ask his new but faithful companion in heartache, Ariadne, to take him back towards her long, lost love!_

_Meena went to hide in her room after an anxious farewell, and Nigel Finchley crept as quietly as he could towards where the elephants rested, at the end of the street. He didn't want to startle the beast, but neither did he want to arouse the handlers, who always slept nearby. _

'_Ariadne!' he whispered. The elephant didn't respond. He worried she was asleep, and he hoped that waking her wouldn't cause a scene._

_He tentatively stroked her flank. 'Ariadne?'_

_She swished her trunk, and Nigel feared for a moment she would trumpet. She did not. He sighed with relief and, accepting her usual help, he clambered onto her back and tickled her right ear, directing her out of the clearing. He hoped to God that the handlers did not hear them and awake. They didn't. _

_Nevertheless, a man in a khaki suit, equipped with an elephant gun, stood watching him from the bushes, and caught his last words._

'_Head for the star of Theseus, Ariadne, we'll take Meena's secret to your lost love…'_

_The elephant trotted from the clearing and was gone. The man regarded it curiously, and wondered again why his employer was taking so much time in the house._

_Time, he thought, to intervene._

………………………………

**21st Century: Malibi Mountains.**

The moment Sydney and Derek disappeared up the mountain pass, Nigel scrambled out of the back of the Range Rover, and started pacing up and down, agitatedly running his fingers through his hair.

After a few minutes of striding and muttering, Preston climbed out too. 'What _is_ the matter?'

'Isn't it blatantly obvious?'

'Oh, you think that you should go after her? Well, I don't. This place is very disagreeable. And in this case, Sydney's affairs are none of our business.' Nigel was about to disagree, when Preston pulled out the receipt from the church in Meerutan that had interested them all so much.

'Nigel,' he asked earnestly. 'What do you think this is for?'

'I don't know,' snapped Nigel. 'I don't want to talk about it. In fact, I don't want to talk to you at all right now.'

'Why are you always so stroppy?'

'Because you are always so superior and supercilious and…and… oh, what's the point?' Preston was modelling his best 'superior' and 'supercilious' sneer at that very moment.

Nigel stomped off and sat on a rock, some distance from the vehicle. He pulled out 'The Fortunes of Nigel' from his pocket, and began peruse Sir Walter Scott's printed appendices at the back. Preston loitered awkwardly and, after a few minutes, wandered over to his brother.

'Why are you so ridiculously obsessed with that little book?'

Nigel huffed and said nothing. Preston sat down next to him on the rock, and found he regretted his strident words. 'Please, Nigel. Show me what you've found. I'd like to know.' His quiet tone was strangely humble.

Nigel, still pouting, had nevertheless found something that he was keen to show Preston. He pointed to a section in the appendices. 'This bit is odd. There are a some words pencilled-in that I can barely read. They're not dated. It certainly isn't Nigel Finchley's handwriting, but it _is_ somehow familiar…'

Preston read the two undated lines of clumsy verse. ''_The fortunes were cruel, and all that is precious now lies within_.'' Preston frowned, wracking his perturbed memory. 'The quote is familiar, but I can't place it…I like the handwriting, though. It's much more stylish than that the scribblings in the rest of the book. Look at its beautiful slants and curves. Lovely!'

Nigel rolled his eyes. 'I think it's a load of nonsense.' He snatched the book back and flicked through the pages, locating the marked passage at the start of chapter 25 that had disturbed him in the Range-Rover. 'This is the last dated passage in Nigel Finchley's hand. That's it. Then it all ends.'

Preston read the faint, unsteady words gravely. 'Oh,' he said softly.

'Oh? Is that all you can say?'

'I'm sorry, then.' Preston patted his brother on the back. Nigel knew Preston meant to be affectionate, but he cringed ungratefully nevertheless.

Preston handed the little leather book back to its owner. 'It is compelling evidence, though, isn't it? That last line in the book, and the receipt from the church? We should really go there now and get our hands on the relic!'

'Now? Is that all you're thinking about, Preston? Is this some scam to swipe the Ruby before Sydney, and take it back to the British Museum to get you a promotion?'

'Of course it isn't,' spluttered Preston. 'I just wanted to cheer you up!'

'Oh yes it ruddy well is,' shouted Nigel. 'I still can't trust you any further than I can throw you…'

The argument was just warming up, when the distant sound of a car engine filtered between their brotherly banter.

'Quick!' yelped Nigel. 'We'd better hide!'

'Hide?' Preston dived after him as Nigel ducked down behind the rock 'Oh, heavens! It's not that Deviega fellow, is it? Can't you find anywhere better to hide than this?'

'Have you got any better suggestions?' blustered Nigel, glancing around wildly. There were no trees, and most of the foothills that led into the mountains were covered only with loose, small stones and gravel.

'We're going to be massacred!' wailed Preston. 'This is all _your_ fault!'

'I didn't want you to come on this trip, Preston, in fact, I…'

They both fell silent as they heard the car engine grind to a halt. Whoever it was, had stopped to check if anybody was near the truck. They huddled up close behind the rock, as footsteps approached on the gravel. Then there was the click of a pistol trigger.

Nigel held his breath.

'Hello? Nigel?'

The female voice sounded familiar. Nigel peeked timidly out from behind the rock.

'Molly?'

The redhead beamed, delighted at his appearance. There was absolutely no sign that she had been injured in any way, let alone stabbed.

'Hello. I'm glad you stayed behind. Let's hope that Sydney has done my little errand without a hitch, and then we can _all_ celebrate.'

'Your errand? What do you mean? I thought you were stabbed…Ooooh!'

Nigel covered his eyes, as Molly hitched up her already short skirt and tucked her pistol into her garter.

'I figured that Sydney was right. I'm not a trained assassin. I'm not even a terribly good shot! However, it was all too darned obvious that she wanted Deviega dead just as much as I did. So I decided to encourage the great Sydney Fox to do the job for me. I've been following you since Calcutta airport - I bugged your brother's bag, you know? Didn't you wonder where on earth it went?'

'You did what?' Preston popped up, irate, from his hiding place. 'That bag was new! I hope you didn't spoil the lining.'

'You didn't even notice the device, did you?' she winked at Nigel, who gawped at her, nonplussed. 'I am good at spying on people!' she confirmed. 'Then, one of Deviega's henchmen started following you as well - exactly as I suspected. I tapped his line, and got a tag on Deviega. By this time, that sonofabitch had found out about this cave, and so I knew where he was going. All I had to do was to tell Sydney where he was, and persuade her to go after him.'

'So you faked your own stabbing? And then, then… you killed Deviega's man?'

Molly's inappropriately chirpy expression vanished. 'Actually, I killed him first. The blood was his, you know?'

'Ugh! That's terrible…'

'You should be thanking me, Nigel. His brief was to dispose of you, your brother and the Interpol man, and to force Sydney to help him find the Ruby.'

'Good God!' exclaimed Preston. 'I suppose we should be grateful…'

'Sydney would have taken care of it,' stated Nigel. 'What about your stabbing, Molly?'

'Yeah, I faked it. It wasn't very hard, although when your boss started fussing over me I started to worry. But the real trump card was telling her that Deviega was trying to kill you! My stabbing was just a reminder of what he was capable of… _you_ were what sent her over the edge.'

'Over the edge?' repeated Nigel. 'You don't know Sydney! She _never_ loses control.'

'As long as she does the job,' said Molly casually, 'I don't care.'

'Well I do!' He turned to Preston. 'This…this…this harlot has tricked Sydney. We've got to help her. '

'I don't see what difference it makes whether Sydney was conned or not,' said the elder brother. 'I'm not having _you_ going up there.'

Nigel, in a quandary, rubbed his fingers against his forehead. A disturbing thought had hit him. 'What if she _does_ lose control? Somebody really has to watch her back.'

'That uncouth American agent looks like he'd be good in a scrap. Leave it to him, old boy. Stay here with me.' Preston's words were jovial, but Nigel could tell he was deadly serious.

'Sorry,' he said quietly. 'I should never have stayed behind. She needs me…'

He turned on his heels, and sprinted towards the pass into the mountains.

'Stop it! Nigel…'

Preston glared at Molly. 'You caused all of this, you nasty woman! You really are a bitch, aren't you?'

'You really aren't as cute as your brother, are you?' jeered Molly.

Preston didn't hear. He had already started his pursuit of Nigel into the mountains.

…………………………

_**1875: Meertutan.**_

_Sydney Carraway charged up to a familiar villa on the outskirts of the town and hammered on the front door. When no answer came, she put her shoulder against it and busted it open. She burst in and ran up the hall, just as Sir Preston Finchley, covered in coal dust and reeking of smoke, caught up with her. _

'_Meena!' shouted Sydney. 'Meena! Meena!'_

_There was no answer. As she reached the dining chamber, Sydney heard the click of a pistol behind one of the ornate, roof-supporting columns. She froze._

'_What is it?' hissed Preston. 'Miss Carraway?'_

'_Some bastard has a gun aimed at us,' growled Sydney. 'I hate men and their guns.'_

_A uniformed soldier in a red jacket stepped out from behind the pillar. There was a bleeding wound on his shoulder, and his clothes and hair were dirtied and ruffled. He was clearly fresh from a fight._

'_Miss Sydney Carraway?'_

'_Yes,' said Sydney slowly, sensing the man was not a threat to her. _

'_You've got a hell of a lot to answer for, woman!'_

'_Have I?'_

'_Yes. Who's this?'_

'_I'm Sir Preston Finchley. Please stop pointing that gun at me!' Preston ruffled irately on seeing that this was a British soldier. He assumed a servant of the Queen would never attack a member of the landed gentry._

'_Sir Preston Finchley, huh?' The soldier tucked the gun away and took a step towards the baronet. Preston thrust his chin in the air, presumptuous of his dignity despite being covered with powdery, black splodges. He was expecting an apology. _

_Thwack!_

_Instead, he received a punch on the jaw that sent him staggering backwards and landing most uncivilly, on his backside._

'_Hey!' Sydney shoved away the attacking soldier._

'_What was that for?' whimpered Preston. Seeing Sydney had control of the situation he added: 'What insolence!'_

'_What was that for?' demanded Sydney._

'_That was for being a pathetic fop with absolutely no honour! And a lousy elder brother…'_

'_Oh, fair enough,' conceded Sydney. 'I take it you're acquainted with Nigel?'_

_Dirk nodded. 'He's asleep.'_

'_Nigel's here?' _

_Preston picked himself up from the floor, still rubbing his jaw begrudgingly. 'Is he well?'_

'_Not well, but no sicker than he was yesterday. You did know, didn't you? How ill he is?'_

_The words were as solemn a sentence by a High Court judge. Preston nodded guiltily. 'But I would never have forced him to come to India,' he pleaded. 'Honestly. Not once I realised…'_

_Dirk regarded the baronet with contempt. 'I just hope Nigel wasn't disturbed by the shooting…'_

'_Shooting?' _

'_That villain, De Veleye. I believe you're acquainted with him? He's in one of the bedrooms, trussed up. It's a good job it was dark in there - we both aimed for the kill. We both missed!' He indicated to his bleeding shoulder with his thumb. 'It's just a graze.'_

_Sydney let out a long, shuddering sigh. After her race against time, everything was going to be all right. She could have kissed the ruggedly handsome, blue-eyed soldier. She then realised he hadn't even introduced himself, although she suspected who he was._

'_Captain Dirk Lloyd?' she asked._

'_It is indeed.' He stared accusingly at Sydney. 'You're a brilliant, beautiful woman. You should be careful who you entrap in your web.'_

'_What do you mean?' _

'_Nigel needs rest. He's needed it for weeks. But he has been compelled to carry on this pointless mission by his infatuation for you.' _

'_That isn't fair. This is the last thing I wanted to happen. Besides, Nigel isn't just some lovesick schoolboy who I strung along for a game. He's a brilliant historian… when it comes to books and learning, he knows much more than I do. He understood the true value of the Diamond Ruby, and what it meant to its protectors.'_

'_Maybe,' said Lloyd. He suddenly seized her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. 'I'll forgive you if you show me how you can kick like a donkey!' _

_As Sydney's lip curled in mildly amused disgust, there was a loud cry from the doorway. _

_'Captain Lloyd! I thought you were dead, and instead you're kissing other women!'_

'_Meena?'_

'_Sydney?'_

_The two women fell into each other's arms, friends reunited._

'_Meena!' exclaimed Dirk. 'Where have you been? You should have known I'd take care of everything.'_

'_Like you did last time?' Meena shook her head, still gazing, thrilled at Sydney. 'I couldn't take that chance. I asked Nigel to take the Ruby to its hiding place.'_

'_Nigel's taken the Ruby?'_

_Meena nodded. 'Yes. I gave him the map and pointed him in the right direction. Is that a problem?'_

_There was a short, ambiguous silence._

'_The strain of the journey could kill him,' stated Lloyd, plainly. 'I have to go after him now. Miss Carraway, will you accompany me?'_

_Sydney was already making for the door._

'_I'm coming too,' said Preston, uncharacteristically steadfast. 'He's my brother, and I've come a long way to retrieve him. You may think badly of me, Captain, but I do care … it's not all my fault that we've never exactly got on, but I do feel a little responsible.' _

_Dirk still regarded the baronet with disdain, but yielded a little: 'You can come with us. Meena, which direction do we take?'_

'_To get to the pass in the mountains, you must head towards the star… what was it that Nigel called it, oh, I know, Theseus.'_

'_Theseus,' nodded Sydney. She pictured a low star in the Gemini cluster. 'I know the one. '_

'_Theseus?' said Dirk. 'Did Nigel react in any strange way when you mentioned that name?'_

_'It seemed to give him some sort of idea,' replied Mina._

_The Captain clicked his fingers: 'Nigel has taken his elephant. The fool, he shouldn't have done that by himself. It will also mean we'll have further to chase him. '_

'_How do you know?' asked Sydney. 'We'd better check that the elephant is gone.'_

'_He's taken it. Let's just say it's all part of his romantic infatuation with you, Sydney Carraway!'_

_Sydney bristled at the accusing words. 'I think you've underestimated Nigel.' _

'_If you say so, Miss. We'd better move, before it's too late. I'll just go and check on our unwanted guest…'_

……………………………………

_Dirk thundered onto Meena's porch just as Apartjita was saddling up the horses. 'De Veleye - he's gone.'_

'_Gone? How can he be gone,' whined Preston. 'Didn't you tie him up properly, man?' _

'_Of course I did!' Captain Lloyd's reply was aggressive. 'He could never have escaped alone. He must have had help.'_

_Sydney's eyes widened with an awful realisation. 'Nigel! Is there any chance that De Veleye and his accomplice followed him?'_

'_I don't know,' said Meena. 'But it's difficult to slip out unseen on an elephant. '_

'_Marvellous!' Preston grasped his hair in exasperation. 'That ruffian's still on the loose, and Nigel has wandered off into the night on the back of an elephant! He'll fall off - he can barely ride a horse!'_

_Dirk repressed the desire to hit Preston again. 'Your brother has ridden an elephant for four days across a rough desert. He didn't fall once! I hear you can't even clear your own estate wall without flying off… '_

'_Lies! It's all lies!'_

_Sydney raised her hands officiously. 'Can we discuss this later, please? Now let's move, out before I deposit you both in large pile of elephant dung!'_

…………………………………

**21st Century: Malibi Mountains**

As Derek and Sydney neared the cave, they discerned it had recently been disturbed. There were two sets of footsteps indenting the sand and gravel that paved the way to the entrance. Sydney could smell her hated nemesis' warm breath, hanging in the air like poison gas.

'This guy is dangerous.' Derek mouthed the words. 'We want to bring him in alive, of course, but if he tries anything…'

Sydney shot him a look of vicious comprehension and they said no more. Taking position behind a protruding rock, around which the path winded, they peered over, checking to see if Deviega was still there.

They were in luck, of sorts. The form of a swarthy, khaki-clad gunman could be seen, in limbo at the entrance to the cave. A flickering light from inside indicated someone was in there.

A violent curse echoed from the depths: 'Damn you, Sydney Fox. You'll pay this time.' Deviega had evidently found the violated resting place.

A thought struck her. She whispered to Derek: 'He believes I got here first and that I have the Ruby.'

Derek shrugged. 'That isn't priority information, unless it makes you even more of a target.'

Sydney wasn't listening. Deviega had materialised at the opening of the cave, dressed in a light safari suit, like that of a 19th-century hunter. His face was red, sunburnt and angry. He gave his accomplice a glare that would reduce the sensitive to tears.

'Let's hunt that woman down.'

'Cover me,' whispered Syd. Before Derek could stop her, Sydney had fled their hiding place.

'Hello Deviega,' growled Sydney. 'Looking for me?'

Two guns were trained on her in an instant: the henchman's automatic, and Deviega's revolver. For the first time in a while, she spied the distinctive snake-motif ring on her enemy's chunky hand. 'Dr Newell,' she whispered. 'The time has come…'

'Where's the Ruby?' His voice permeated the clearing, loud, booming and ominous.

'I don't have it, Deviega. Right now, I don't even care about it or any relic. I came here to repay a promise: to hunt you down.'

'You've changed, Sydney Fox,' smiled Deviega. 'You have become more like me. But I still don't believe you. Give me the jewel!'

Sydney snarled and took a step towards him. 'Come on Derek,' she willed. 'Take the other guy with the gun out, and then I can do the rest.'

As if on cue, Deviega motioned the gunmen to check behind the rock from which Sydney had emerged. She wondered, casually, if the goon, who she recognised from their encounters in Dean Court and Finchley Hall, expected to find Nigel.

He certainly wasn't expecting Derek.

Syd heard a swish and a crack. She twisted her head anxiously to confirm that indeed was the henchman, not the agent, who was strewn, unconscious across the path. Derek Lloyd. stepped out from behind a rock, and calmly pointed his gun straight his target.

'I see you've taken on more… appropriate assistance,' observed Deviega, almost impressed. Detecting Sydney on the verge of attack, he dived for the cover of the cave.

'You're blocking my line of fire! Sydney!'

She barely registered Derek's shout as she plunged into the darkness after her prey.

The light was dim, bleeding only in trickling streaks from the narrow opening. Syd's nemesis was lurking, unseen in the shadows. Her senses driven to their limits, it took only the twitch of an eyelash for her to detect his exact whereabouts.

She lunged forward, throwing her whole body upon his. A gun fired, but the gamble paid off. His arm knocked wide, the bullet ricocheted off the ceiling, clattered against a wall and rolled across the ground, scorching but harmless.

Sydney and Deviega tumbled to the floor. She ripped at the bulk beneath her like a clawed animal, using knife and nails. Her mind was blank: all that remained of Sydney Fox was raw energy fuelled by an eternity of pent up hatred.

'You're blocking my shot!' bellowed Derek, aiming his gun frantically from the doorway, straining his eyes in the dark. 'Back off Syd: I'll take him out.'

She didn't hear him. Rolling, grappling across the floor into the thin steam of light, their bodies entwined like violently impassioned lovers. She smashed away a fumbling hand, which probed her scant clothing for the Ruby. Then her knife slashed flesh: somewhere, she cared not where. There was a roar of anguish and a click.

Somehow, Deviega, lying beneath her, had regained his gun. It's cool, hard barrel, was digging into her stomach. A hairbreadths movement of the finger against the trigger would be fatal.

She gasped silently, and the knife clattered from her fingers.

The detested sound of Deviega's laughter permeated the damp, heavy air, intermingled with the sound of fast approaching footsteps.

Derek cursed under his breath then, as a figure pushed beside him through the opening, he shouted loudly: 'No! Stay back.'

The gun twisted against Sydney's yeilding flesh, then gradually, almost imperceptibly, began to shift away.

'NO,' breathed Sydney.

'This will hurt you so much more…'

Sydney grabbed for the gun, but it was already too late.

Two shots fired simultaneously.

Sydney felt the body pressed against her spasm and go limp, but she barely registered the meaning. In an instant, Deviega flew from dominating her world to an irrelevance. Her whole being was absorbed with other form that crumpled, senseless, onto the sand. She struggled numbly to her feet, and then froze.

'Jesus Christ. Sydney…' The words were Derek's.

Sydney's mind raced between two existences. The body, slumped on its side on the floor of the cave, couldn't be_ her _Nigel. It must be some phantom of the past! Then she looked again. Boyish but not a boy, and sturdy enough, he was dressed in familiar blue cotton, sweat-soaked shirt and light, beige slacks. It was _her_ Nigel.

Sydney's instincts told her to hold him, to comfort him. But she couldn't. Even as her eyes focused on the man lying at her feet, the rest of her world descended into a stupor. She told her body to stoop and her hands to reach forward, but nothing responded. She tried to call out to him, yet she couldn't muster a croak.

She blinked her eyes deliberately: it was all she could do.

'Derek…' Sydney finally regained her ability to move. She took one faltering step forward. 'He's not….he can't be…tell me he's alive…'

……………………….

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	16. Part fifteen: Disclosures

Disclaimers: as ever.

Thank you for the reviews.

**Warning: this chapter contains some rather upsetting passages (well, I thought they were sad...but, then again, I wrote it...) **

**21st Century: Malibi Mountains.**

'He's not…he can't be…tell me he's okay…'

Sydney had never seen Derek look _really_ scared before, despite all the guns and spears that had been pointed at them on previous adventures. At that moment, as he searched for Nigel's vital signs, pressing gently against the side of his friend's neck, he looked terrified.

Sydney was standing above him, before he found the words she wanted to hear: 'There's a pulse…he's breathing.'

Sydney's legs gave way: trembling and weak, they could no longer hold her. A patch of blood was forming, high up on the left side of Nigel's chest. If it hadn't hit his heart or a lung, it had missed by mere millimetres.

A sick, empty pain filled the whole of her torso. 'He can't die…I shouldn't have come here….again….' The words were meaningless, peripheral.

She barely registered as Derek leapt to his feet like a coiled spring, charging furiously upon the other stricken man. Fortunately, the G.I's acute senses were still on edge. Deviega, shot only in the thigh, had recovered, and had to be disarmed. Moving quickly and professionally, it was a matter of seconds before Derek had the cuffs on him. The criminal never regained his gun.

Deviega said something, loud and mocking. It echoed around the cave like a bluebottle throwing itself repeatedly against a window. It had no more impact than an insect on Sydney Fox.

She reached out and gently touched Nigel's cheek and then his lips. A gentle ripple of breath caressed her fingers. As it faded, her stomach clenched and she held her own breath. Nevertheless, Nigel breathed again, then again, inevitable as the succession of waves on an incoming tide. It was laboured, and uneven, but continuous.

Sydney Fox returned to the land of the living. There was no deja vu this time: Nigel was fighting, and so must she.

'Derek, call for help.'

Derek was already onto it.

She scooped her hair back from her face and very slightly adjusted Nigel's position, to provide support and make him more comfortable. His skin was damp, and cooler than hers: that was wrong. Nigel always felt warmer to touch than she, even in the Arctic circle. She ripped a strip from the fabric of her top to place over the wound.

Derek finished barking orders into his communicator. 'Interpol are scrambling a chopper,' he told her. His confident bark seemed thinner, more tinny than usual. 'It can't get this far into the mountains though. They'll have to send a medical team up.'

'Fine,' said Sydney. 'I think the bullet is still lodged in his shoulder…there's no exit wound. '

'We shouldn't try to get it out. It might make the bleeding worse.'

'I know,' said Sydney. 'He must be in shock…we need to keep him warm.'

As Sydney rummaged in her satchel with one hand for another clean shirt, they heard the scuffle of further footsteps and a familiar man's voice:

'Nigel! I told you not to go in there…aaargh! There's a body out here! Where are you?'

Preston paused in the mouth of the cave, absorbing the scene. Red in the face, dripping with sweat, and panting, he had obviously run all the way into the mountains, in pursuit of his brother.

'My God…this is it. I knew it…I've been here before…'

His mouth fell open as he spied the sober faces of Sydney and Derek and the prone body.

'No…not again!' Rushing to Nigel's side, he all but pushed Sydney out of the way, and reached out to touch his brother. Seeing the blood, he recoiled, terrified. 'He's….he's bleeding. Somebody shot him!' He turned on Sydney, contorted with fury. 'How could you let this happen?'

'I'm sorry Preston.' Sydney's voice was cracked and thin. 'But… help is on its way. He'll be okay. Everything will be fine.'

'No…No… I've lost him. And it's all my fault. He was all the family I had and I've lost him...'

Sydney was alarmed at Preston's desperate words. She reached and felt Nigel's pulse. Derek took over applying pressure onto the bleeding wound, fixing her with an imploring gaze. The beat was still there, steady enough.

'He's alive, Preston,' she whispered. It was then she saw the tears that had started flowing down his cheeks. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and he responded by awkwardly laying a hand on her back. 'Whatever happened before,' she whispered, 'it won't happen today - not this time. I promise…and I'm sorry. This time, it was my fault.'

……………………………

**_1875: Malibi Mountains._**

_Ariadne and Nigel made fast progress. The night was relatively cool, and the elephant was unusually lively, as if driven by the belief that her love really waited for her under the low-hanging star._

_Once they were clear of the town, Nigel wedged a little brass candle lantern into the back of the saddle, to provide a little encouraging light. He dearly wished he could fall asleep across the elephants back as he had the night before, but knew he could not risk their wandering off track. He was on the verge of nodding off several times when, as if sensing his faltering grip, Ariadne would trumpet quietly, or flick her tail against her bottom making a swishing noise. Each time, Nigel was jolted back to wakefulness. _

_After the fifth or sixth time this happened, he lightly patted the elephant's backside. 'You're a good girl, Ariadne. I don't know why any man would leave you!'_

_Then he thought of Sydney, and how happy she would be when she realised that the ruby had been returned to its rightful home. He smiled to himself: yes, this was it. This is why he came: to make her smile, and to make her proud. He giggled, wondering how an elephant had reminded him of the meaning of love._

_The stars above him were bright, and the air was fresh on his face. It all seemed unreal and, drifting back into inevitable sleepiness, he imagined he heard the distant whinnying of a horse. _

_Bang._

_The shot which shattered the silence came from cruel, stark reality. Nigel's heart lurched._

_A second bullet whizzed past his ear, and fear snatched away his breath. The elephant trumpeted, loud and angry._

_There was a third bang. Nigel plummeted from Ariadne's back, as she shuddered violently, stabbed in her hind by a searing missile. He landed in the sand on his hands and knees, his limbs buckled and he collapsed to the floor, retching for air. _

_The elephant was gone, thundering back towards the source of the noise. Nigel wanted to shout, 'No, not that way!' but he was consumed by the pounding in his chest. He heard another bang, a human cry, and a bellow from the elephant._

_An English voice shouted loudly: 'Use the elephant gun, man. Or it'll kill us both…'_

'_De Veleye,' husked Nigel. 'No…don't hurt her…please…'_

'_Damn you,' came the voice again. 'Give it here.'_

_A shot like an explosion resounded around the desert. The elephant wailed, agonised and gutteral. Then there was silence._

_Salty tears trickled down Nigel's cheeks as a cloud covered the guiding stars to the West. The darkness deepened and he knew she was gone._

'_I hope you're with your love, again, Ariadne,' he whispered. _

_Nigel curled himself into a ball, sobbing quietly and praying that the cloak of night would be enough to conceal him until he had the strength to carry on._

…………………………………………

**21st Century: Meerutan hospital**.

Sydney, Preston and Derek waited side-by-side on three worn, black plastic chairs that lined the edge of the corridor. The hospital was stiflingly hot and noisy, crowded with hustled nurses, babbling relatives, wailing children and irate orderlies, who flew up and down the corridor with loose wheeled and variously occupied trolleys.

The three of them added no extra noise to the cacophony. They had long since run out of things to say to each other. In the helicopter on the way back, Nigel had experienced breathing difficulties, and the paramedics had feared he might go to into cardio-arrest. When they arrived at the hospital, his condition was uncertain.

Sydney had said, as much for her comfort as the other's, 'everything is going to be just fine.' Preston's wretched moan caused her to regret her empty optimism.

She said nothing more, and did not even consider slapping Derek when he laid a hand on her thigh.

All three, however, sprung to their feet, as the doctor on casualty duty hurried up the corridor towards them. He spoke fast and seriously to a nurse in a language that even Sydney, in her torment, could barely understand.

'Which one of you is Mr Preston Bailey?'

'I am.' Preston's words were garbled. 'Nigel is all right? He will be okay, won't he?'

The doctor smiled reassuringly.

'Your brother is doing very well, Mr Bailey. We've operated to remove the bullet and I can confirm that there is no major damage to any of his vital organs. His condition is still serious, but he ought to recover completely.'

There was a collective murmur of relief, and Preston flopped back onto his chair. 'I'm going to kill him,' he muttered, 'for putting me through this…' He then slapped Sydney, surprisingly playfully, on her bottom. 'But I'm going to kill you first, Sydney Fox!'

She turned to him, open mouthed as the doctor regarded them, wondering if they were a couple. Sydney shook her head, wondering just how she was going to punish Preston Bailey.

'Would you like to see your brother?' asked the doctor.

'Of course. What about the others?'

The doctor wavered uncertainly, and asked Sydney: 'Are you Mr Bailey's girlfriend or partner?'

'Err, no…' said Sydney.

The doctor smiled sympathetically. 'Well, I'm afraid its family only for now. This way, Mr Bailey.'

'No, wait!' said Sydney. 'I am Nigel Bailey's partner, I thought you were talking about, uh, Preston. They're both Mr Bailey, you know.'

'You'd better come along then, Miss' said the doctor, starting up the corridor. Preston eyeballed her suspiciously, while Derek was merely amused.

'He is my partner,' mouthed Sydney. 'In a manner of speaking…'

'Lucky boy,' grinned Dirk. 'Does that means you have a vacancy for an assistant?' he called after her. 'And who gets to share the sleeping bag? The 'partner' or the 'assistant'?'

Sydney shot Derek a glare that said 'shut it' louder than any words.

…………………………

'Nigel 'came to' a few minutes ago, Mr Bailey. He'll still be very drowsy, from the drugs we gave him. I should think he'll be happy to see you, though.'

The doctor opened the door, but Preston paused in the doorway. It was quite different from the moment he'd sauntered into the cubicle at Queen Anne's, back in London. This time, Nigel's eyes were shut and his shirt had been removed, revealing a large, clumsy looking dressing upon the wound. There were scary wires attaching him to flashing, bleeping machines. He guessed one of the tubes was some sort of IV drip but, overall, Preston was overwhelmed. He was a historian, not a scientist, and he was too squeamish to have even watched any medical shows on the telly. What did all these things do? What were they doing to his brother?

Sydney was already at Nigel's side, squeezing his hand. By the time Nigel had opened his eyes, Preston had left the room, feeling unsettled and superfluous.

'Hey,' said Syd. 'How are you doing?'

Nigel was compus mentus enough to scowl at her affectionately. 'I've been better, Syd. I didn't exactly enjoy the helicopter ride… in fact, I'm rapidly going off India!' He spoke quietly but his animated sentiments caused him to involuntary shift a little. A damaged rib stabbed painfully. 'Ow!'

Sydney grimaced. 'I'm so sorry. This is all my fault.'

Nigel shook his head, almost indiscernibly. 'No it's not…well, you did charge off into the mountains after Deviega. But I came after you of my own free will.' He mustered a cheeky smile. 'You are only human, Sydney… and you got a bit carried away, what with Deviega and all that past life rubbish. I forgive you on the condition that you don't blame yourself. '

'Rubbish?' Sydney, despite everything, bristled at the suggestion.

'Well, maybe it wasn't _all_ rubbish…' Nigel laughed, and then winced at the discomfort it caused.

'Does it hurt a lot?' asked Sydney, loathing her ineffective words.

'Like hell, but not as bad as earlier…where's Derek…and, um, Preston?'

'Its family only, I'm afraid. Derek didn't qualify.'

'What about you?'

'We're partners aren't we?' she winked knowingly.

Nigel responded likewise. 'So we are…'

'Preston's supposed to be here. Shall I go find him?'

'If you must,' teased Nigel. A thought struck him and he licked his lips nervously. 'He didn't save my life or anything, did he? Because if he did, I'd never hear the last of it… '

Sydney tried not to giggle. 'No, don't worry. Nothing dreadful like that happened. He followed you into the mountains though. He did his best to watch your back, which is more than I did.'

'Well, there's always a first.'

Sydney dashed off and returned a moment later, dragging Preston through the door. He hovered, uncertainly, around a metre from the bed.

'How are you, Nigel?'

'Awful,' he yawned. 'And very tired all of a sudden…'

'Well, you have been making a scene again, haven't you? I'm not surprised… I'd better go.'

'No…please stay. I wanted to say thank you. For coming after me…'

Preston shrugged. 'I didn't like that place. I had one of Sydney's 'hunches', I suppose. But don't let it happen again! I can't be following you around the world on all your adventures.'

Nigel scrunched his nose, mildly amused. 'As a rule, I don't think you'd be much use to us anyway. Sydney's a pretty effective bodyguard…'

'I wasn't exactly on top form today,' admitted Sydney.

'It was a one-off!' emphasized Nigel. 'God, I'm sleepy…oh, Syd?' Nigel pried open heavy eyelids.

'What?'

'Did they get him? Deviega?'

'Yes,' she said calmly, reaching out and brushing an unruly lock of hair from his forehead. 'I believe they did.'

'I bet you're pleased,' mumbled Nigel, pleasantly distracted by the gentle brush of her fingers as they wandered down his cheek. He shut his eyes and let out a long sigh. Sydney wondered if he was already asleep.

'I bet you're pleased…' Nigel's fading words unsettled Sydney. Her passion for history and its forgotten secrets had been swept away by a hollow rage. Deviega had been right. She'd verged on becoming dangerously like him: cold and emotionless, dead inside.

All that had fled the moment Nigel fell to the floor of the cave. Since then, there had been nothing but regret, anxiety and now the welcome deluge of relief. She hadn't revived her anger: what good could it do now? Deviega was under an armed guard in the hospital and heading straight for jail, but that wouldn't bring back Dr Newell, any more than his death would have. She just thanked whichever deity who would listen that she wasn't standing here and realizing that it wouldn't bring back Nigel.

'No more unfinished business,' she said slowly.

'What do you mean?'

Sydney jumped. She had forgotten the Preston was still standing just behind her.

'I mean I'm ready to forget all about this affair and go home just as soon as Nigel is well enough.'

'What about the Diamond Ruby? It is what we came here for.'

'Yes, it was,' admitted Sydney. 'We'll find it, I promise. '

Preston smiled knowingly. 'I think we might have already found it. Or at least, we know where it is.'

'Where is it?' She found her plea was half-hearted.

'Hasn't the great Sydney Fox worked it out yet?'

Sydney suddenly remembered her words to Nigel, spoken a week ago in the hotel, after they'd first visited the cave:

'_It was as if…history was trying to tell me some sort of deep truth that was embedded…inside of me.'_

History had been trying to tell her something since that first moment in the cavern. Now it was Preston Bailey, of all people, who was finally breaking down her resistance.

'Nigel Finchley had it, as Sydney Carraway wrote in her letter in 1920,' he began. 'And he still has it. It was just a case of finding out what happened to him. I'm pretty sure our Nigel worked it out, and I suppose I also had a strong feeling all along. I can't believe you never had an inkling… that you misunderstood your own letter?'

She dropped her voice to a scarcely audible husk: 'What happened to him, Preston?'

She noticed that Preston had in his hand 'The Fortunes of Nigel,' which he opened a particular marked page. He pointed to the passage at the start of Chapter 25.

Sydney read the words in silence. Still she pleaded: 'he could have been wrong?'

Preston removed the crumpled church receipt from his pocket. At that moment, Sydney realised that she, too, had known the answer all along. She just couldn't bear to read the signs.

…………………………………

**_1875: Malibi Mountains._**

_When Nigel Finchley next raised his head, a blood-red sun backlit the looming shape of the mountains afore him. He didn't think he had been lying there for long, and indeed he hadn't. Dawn had been on the verge of breaking when his pursuers gained upon him. _

_He thought sadly about his elephant, but dared not go back. He couldn't bear to see her lying there. Anything else that lay behind him, he would rather stayed there. _

'_Thank you, Ariadne,' he whispered._

_His limbs unnaturally heavy, Nigel stumbled to his feet. He heard a soft pat as something fell from a pocket onto the sand. He looked quickly, but instead of the Diamond Ruby, he saw his little leather bound novel. It had fallen open, its pages flecked with sand, at the start of chapter 25._

_He picked it up and read the first four lines that the verse presented to him with a gradual resignation:_

'_Death finds us 'mid our playthings--snatches us,_

_As a cross nurse might do a wayward child,_

_From all our toys and baubles. His rough call_

_Unlooses all our favourite ties on earth…'_

'_How prophetic, how ironic,' he thought bitterly, 'how cold, lonely and devoid of love.' _

_His hands shook as he fumbled for a pencil, but he still mustered the ability to write what he must: _

'_I've believed for a long time he would find me too soon, but why should he follow me so far from home? I depart this world knowing that I do a service for she to whom I feel the fondest ties. N.F. 11th November, 1875.'_

_He tucked the book away, bidding the friendlier words that surrounded the stark poem a fond farewell. Glancing around, his distracted gaze fell upon a pass into the mountains. With some great effort, he made his way over and started up the deep cutting._

_Although the sun had not yet pierced into the gorge between the rocks, its burning heat seeped in and sweat dampened his skin. His boots became heavier and heavier, until each step was like dragging a ball and chain across an unwelcome underlay of jagged stones. Just sheer bloody-mindedness, and an unnatural compulsion to see his task through, propelled him onwards._

_Then he saw it ahead of him: a narrow slit in the rock tapering to nothing above his head. _

'_This is it,' he whispered. 'I know it. This is the end…'_

_A hollow relief flooded his beleaguered body. The dark opening, which ought to have been foreboding, invited him as a gateway to green rolling hills, orchards, and sweet spring air: England, home. All he had to do was put the ruby back, everything would be over and he would be safe._

_It was dark inside. He pulled a little tinderbox – given to him by Captain Dirk - from his pocket, and struck a light. Then he plunged into the blackness._

_He never noticed the large wooden torch, resting in its fitting on the wall. On the far side, the light of his little flame fell upon the large, ornamented door that guarded the hiding place of the jewel._

_He retrieved the piece of paper with the code for the lock and, mustering the very last of his energy, hurried forward. _

_As he held the flame close to the shimmering portal, he realised something was very wrong. There were indeed some coloured jewels embedded in the door, and some text engraved nearby. It was slightly ajar. Fearing the worst, Nigel pushed the door slightly, and it clicked further open._

_As he closely examined the edges of the gorgeous door, he could see that it had indeed been hacked open. There were signs of blows by a bludgeon or an axe._

'_Achyuta must have been desperate,' thought Nigel. 'He hacked the lock…its broken.'_

_Then something terrible occurred to him: 'If I can't reseal the door, I can't leave the ruby here. If anybody came across this place, it would just be free for them to take. I have to go back…I have to…'_

_Two words uttered from his lips even as his legs gave way. 'I can't…'_

_The little flame was vanquished as it tumbled to the floor. In the descending blackness Nigel could not see cherry trees, green valleys or the beloved face of Sydney Carraway. He no longer even remembered the elephant. There was only solitary fear, magnified by the prospect of perpetual night. He crawled forwards towards the light, and was not a yard from the door when the ache in his chest became a searing pain._

'_Sweet Jesus,' he murmured, 'forgive me.' His last conscious breath came as a splutter for air, and then he knew no more._

…………………………………

_Half a mile off the mountains, Sydney, Derek and Preston, riding fast on horseback, spotted three ominous shapes lying ahead of them on the desert._

_Derek galloped ahead: 'It's Ariadne!' he cried. 'Oh no…'_

_He rounded his horse and galloped back towards the others.' This isn't a sight for those unfamiliar with the battlefield. I'll deal with it.'_

_Sydney ignored him and continued riding onwards. Preston hesitated: "Nigel… is he there?'_

'_No… just one dead elephant and two dead men. It looks like she attacked before they finished her off.'_

_Sydney, arriving at the sanguinary scene, instantly sensed that evil had not departed. As if on cue, one of the slumped, bloodied bodies moved: 'De Veleye!' she cried. 'Lloyd! He's alive…'_

_A shot cut through the air. Sydney's horse reared. It would have been enough to throw a more experienced rider, but leapt off of her own accord, and grimly wrestled with the holder of the gun._

_By the time Dirk had reached her side, Sydney had thrown the gun from the the weakened man, and seized him by the collar. "Nigel… what did you do to him?'_

' _Miss Sydney Carraway,' leered De Veleye. 'This is a pleasant surprise. You've come all this way for your little lapdog! I expect you were as angry as I was when he ran off with our precious jewel!'_

'_Where is he?'_

'_If I'd caught up with him, he'd be dead. But, my dear, are you not a little surprised he got this far? He'd never have made it if it wasn't for this hired thug,' he indicated Dirk, 'and that brainless carcass.' Here he laughed at the elephant. 'But he's out there alone now, in the desert. How far do you think that ailing boy will get? I believe I gave him quite a shock earlier… '_

_He was silenced by a vicious right hook to the jaw. Sydney rose and handed the incriminating revolver to Dirk. 'I hate these things more than ever!' she growled.'Take him back to Meerutan. He's not getting away this time.' _

'_Too right, he won't!' Dirk now realised that De Veleye was no more injured than when he'd left him tied up in Meena's bedroom. He was disabled by shot to the thigh and his horses had run off. It was only his accomplice that Ariadne had triumphantly gored to death._

'_Do you think you can find Nigel alone, Miss Carraway?' asked the Captain._

_Sydney raised her eyebrows, almost amused: 'Did Nigel tell you nothing about me?'_

'_He thinks you're an extraordinary woman. And you do indeeed fight 'better than a man', even if I haven't yet seen you 'kick like a donkey.''_

_This time, Sydney did laugh._

'_You'd better get after him. Nigel will have made it to that cave.'_

'_Ugh!' Preston had finally cantered up to the scene. He held a handkerchief to his face, overcome by the gory sight and the growing stench of the bodies. 'Will you two stop talking? If Nigel isn't here, hadn't we better go on?'_

'_Right. Take that bastard in, Captain Lloyd!' _

_The captain saluted as Sydney remounted her horse, and galloped off towards the mountain pass._

…………………………

_The ravine was too narrow to gallop a horse up. Sydney and Preston deserted them halfway up, and made their way up the sandy end of the track by foot._

'_What is this place,' wimpered Preston. The sun still had not penetrated the depths of the pass. 'It's like some form of hot, sunless hell. Whatever would possess Nigel to come up here? Surely he turned back?'_

'_No,' said Sydney, increasingly apprehensive. 'He came this way recently, and he hasn't come back.' Her sharp eyes had spotted the lonely footsteps in the sand._

_Preston groaned, and wiped the sweat from his brow. He wondered how Sydney never showed any signs of heat and exhaustion, despite her tight corset and heavy skirts. _

'_This is it! We've found it!'_

_Sydney had spied the opening to the cave. She sprinted forwards and then froze._

'_Oh God…Nigel.'_

_Nigel was slumped in a shaft of light that reached inside the cave. He looked much smaller and thinner than when she last saw him and his skin was white as a ghost. The clumsy soldier's uniform, particularly the scarlet red jacket, jarred excruciatingly with his sickly, childlike appearance. The voyage, the journey he had made on her behalf, had taken a dreadful toll._

'_Oh, Nigel. I'm so sorry.' Hesitating no longer, she rushed forward and gathered him into her arms, his head resting on her breast. _

_Tears pricking in her eyes she felt for a pulse in his wrist. Nothing. She tried again, pressing the side of his neck. Her soul leapt as she found a faint flutter._

_Preston was standing over her, his skin nearly as pallid as his brothers. 'He's not dead…he's not…'_

'_No…no…' Her voice was soft, pleading. 'He's alive, he's still alive…'_

_Preston dropped to his knees, and leaned in close. 'Nigel,' he whispered. 'Nigel, wake up. It's me, Preston, and Miss Carraway. We came all this way for you. Please come back to us…please.'_

_He glanced up at Sydney, silent prayers etched on his face._

'_Sydney?' _

_It took all of Sydney's considerable self-control to not give Nigel a violent jolt, such was her shock when he spoke to her. _

_She hugged him tight. 'Nigel... you came back to us! We're both here, Preston and I. We've come to take you home, back to England. '_

'_Shall I go back to Oxford?' It was an odd question at such a time. His voice, which fought its way out only with a struggle, seemed to echo distantly from another world. Sydney scrutinised Nigel closely, and saw that his gaze was vacant, unfocused. His breath wasn't ragged, as it had been that night in the carriage in London. It was barely there at all. To her horror, she noticed that his lips had turned slightly blue._

_Preston, who a moment ago had thought he might faint with relief, was now rather perturbed. 'Well, it's awfully costly, Nigel. Let's just say 'we'll see,' eh?'_

_Sydney's accusing glare hit him like a slap to the face. 'Ooooh…' Preston absorbed her meaning and fell quiet._

'_Of course,' she whispered. 'Of course you can go back to Oxford. And you can show me around Finchley Hall, just like you promised. And when you're well again, we will go on all sorts of adventures, all over the world. We'll find some wonderful things together. Ride elephants…'_

'_Ariadne?' The voice was even further away now._

_Sydney stroked his brow tenderly. _'_She ran away into the desert, to find her lost love. She found him, Nigel.'_

_Bewilderment and fear departed Nigel's eyes and they focussed directly onto hers. He smiled, drinking in the sight he had yearned for so often over those last few weeks of struggle. _

'_She found him,' she repeated, as unfettered tears rolled down her cheeks._

_He gasped suddenly and Sydney felt his whole being rack with pain. _

'_Shhh.' Consoling words were useless now. Sydney just held him._

_Preston panicked. 'What is it? What is it?' _

_Nigel, now fighting against an unstoppable tide, lifted two fingers to her lips. Sydney leant down and kissed him: once, chastely, with infinite love._

'_Go home, darling. I'll see you soon…next time it will be for longer, I promise.'_

_His lips hovered open and his eyes dimmed: for an agonising moment, she knew he was suffering. Then his body fell limp, and all was over._

_A dreadful silence fell upon the cave, and spilled into Sydney's heart._

_It was obliterated only by tears and guilt._

'_I've lost him, Sydney,' cried Preston, covering his face with his hands. 'It's all my fault. He was all the family I had and I've lost him. I've betrayed my father, and my mother. I've lost the fortune, the house…and now I've lost Nigel.'_

'_It's not your fault, Preston. It's my fault he did this ridiculous thing…' Sydney's words were hushed and broken._

'_No…no.' Reaching out, Preston slipped two hands under Nigel's shoulders, and pulled him forwards, out of Sydney's embrace. Sydney let him take his brother and, after some adjustment, Preston raised himself slowly to his feet, with Nigel in his arms._

'_I'm taking him home.'_

_Sydney jumped to her feet. 'You can't, Preston. It's impossible…'_

'_I'm taking him back to Finchley.' Preston stuck his chin in the air, firmly, with the authority of a baronet._

_Sydney was equally adamant. 'You can't. I'm sorry.'_

_Preston's face creased with sobs. 'But I can't leave him here. Not my little brother… not in this place that he didn't know, thousands of miles from everything and everyone he loved…'_

_Sydney went over and lifted her hand to his shoulder. 'He's not here. He's gone… he is home, don't you see?' _

'_But where can I take him? I can't leave him here.'_

_Sydney shook her head, slowly. 'No, you can't. We can't. But there is a church in Meerutan…'_

'_There is? That had better be it, then. Still so far from home…' _

_Preston shifted Nigel up a little, in a pointless effort to rest his head against his shoulder and make him more comfortable. Something tumbled out of the dead man's top pocket and rolled across the sand on the floor. Catching the light, it glistened red._

'_The Diamond Ruby.' Sydney stooped to pick it up, at the same time mindlessly gathering in the crumpled piece of paper containing the code, which lay discarded nearby. Her voice was utterly joyless. 'I suppose we can't leave these here either.' _

_She tucked the items in her purse, instantly forgetting them, and took a first step out of the dark cave into what seemed a bleak, empty, and incriminatingly warm and bright world. It was then that the sick, empty feeling filled the whole of her torso and Sydney Carraway pondered desolately on how the loss of somebody she had known only for two days could make her wish that she were dead too._

……………………

**21st century: Meerutan Hospital**

Sydney took the piece of paper, holding it with her fingertips. She didn't need to read it any more, she knew the truth: Nigel Finchley died. The receipt was for his memorial, in All Saints Church, Meerutan.

It didn't seem right speaking further over Nigel's sleeping form, so she guided the elder brother swiftly from the room. Once in the corridor, she hissed: 'So the Diamond Ruby is near Nigel Finchley's grave?'

'It's the only explanation.'

Sydney ran her fingers across her forehead, processing the information. 'We shouldn't go there yet, not without Nigel. We will have to wait until he's well again.'

Preston screwed up his nose in disgust, despite his own keenness to find it prior to Nigel's present misfortune. 'You're not seriously considering retrieving it, are you? It would be… quite, quite wrong!'

Sydney grimaced. She wasn't a grave robber, and thought of raiding Nigel's tomb really did send a shiver down her spine.

'Sydney Carraway must have intended for the Ruby to be retrieved one day, so she would have thought of something to prevent the resting place itself being disturbed. We can still find this thing.'

Preston, still disgruntled, raised his hands. 'Whatever you say, Sydney Fox. You're the Relic Hunter.'

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	17. Part sixteen: Conclusions

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for the reviews. **

**21st century: Meerutan Hospital - Two weeks later**

'In some ways, Nigel,' said Preston, as they departed through the swinging doors of Meerutan Hospital, 'it's a jolly good job you got shot.'

'In what ways would that be?' replied Nigel indignantly. He could see Sydney waiting in a car, and accelerated his pace, immediately forgetting the doctor's advice to 'take it very slowly'. His shoulder was still painful, and his arm was loosely resting in a sling but, otherwise, he felt pretty good. He simply couldn't stand the solitary company of his chattering brother, who had insisted on helping him with the 'checking out' paperwork, any minute longer.

'Well,' continued Preston jovially, 'if you hadn't been nearly fatally injured, I would have had some awfully difficult questions to answer about why I didn't turn up to work, two weeks back. As it was, I told them I got a phone call informing me that my brother had been shot in India. As far as they know, I then leapt upon the first flight, forgetting everything else but my familial concern and love!'

Then it happened. Nigel couldn't help it. He bit his bottom lip in an attempt to suppress it. He wanted to snap Preston's head off, but he just couldn't. Instead, his face lit up into a broad grin, and he laughed.

'You were trying to be funny, weren't you?'

'Not really,' said Preston earnestly. 'I could hardly have admitted that I jumped on a plane on Saturday evening just because of a 'funny feeling.' They found it hard enough to swallow as it was: none of my colleagues even knew I had a brother! All the same, I'm glad I came. Even if I didn't save your life or do anything frightfully heroic. Thanks for letting me tag along.'

'You've got Syd to thank for that,' replied Nigel. 'I didn't want you to come, remember?'

'Oh yes. I remember…'

Sydney had been watching her assistant at his brother from the car. It was great to see Nigel looking so lively and healthy so soon after the incident. And, boy! Those pants did look good on him…

She herself had had a relatively quiet two weeks, waiting at the hospital and going through the remainder of Miss Carraway's papers.

It had been an eye-opening experience. The loss of Nigel had cast a shadow over Sydney Carraway's life that had never lifted. She possessed fire and determination, and had thrown her considerable energies into the pursuit of knowledge, artifacts and women's rights. She had been exactly the kind of pioneering female that her era needed. Yet Sydney sensed her namesake had been forever restless, discontented, and even unhappy. She worked best alone, and partnerships for, love or work, had been stormy and short lived.

As Nigel approached, she threw the car door open.

Dispelling her tumultuous thoughts, she asked: 'What the heck are you two chortling about?'

'Nothing,' smirked Nigel, as he settled down next to her in the front. She regarded him suspiciously.

'If I'm not mistaken, it looks like you and Preston were having a pleasant conversation like two mature adults.'

'Oh no,' protested Nigel, pulling an expression of mock innocence. 'We would never do that, what would the world be coming too?'

'Why not?' asked Preston from the back. 'We always have mature conversations when you're not being surly…'

'Maybe I spoke too soon…'

Nigel scowled at her, but not crossly. Both of them were well aware that, despite Preston's new-found fondness for his younger brother, he had not entirely jettisoned his former attitude.

'Are you ready to go to the church?' asked Sydney.

'Yup,' replied Nigel fiddling to fasten his seatbelt with one hand. Sydney reached over and plugged it in for him. 'Let's get this over and done with, then. I actually can't believe you waited two weeks for me to be able to come.'

'It was kind of difficult,' admitted Sydney wryly, pulling out into the heavy and hectic stream of traffic that fought its way through the centre of the town. 'But we're still in time for the exhibition in Calcutta.'

Sydney's phone rang. Driving, she tossed it to Nigel who answered:

'Hello? Derek!...yes, I'm fine. They just let me out. Yup, that's right. Good behaviour!'

Sydney's eyes darted between the traffic and Nigel, keenly reading his expression as he listened to Derek's news.

'Oh….yes, I'll tell her…'

Before he could say goodbye, the line went dead.

'Polite guy!' retorted Sydney. 'What did he say? Did he mention Saritha?' Sydney had been mad at the G.I., who was clearing up Interpol business in Calcutta, ever since her former student called her up to tell her Derek had asked her on a date. Saritha had been ecstatic, but Sydney guessed that she was fast headed for broken heart: Derek, inevitably, would soon move on to other missions, other continents and, no doubt, other girls.

'No… it's not that.'

'What is it?'

Nigel looked upset and slightly nervous. 'He says he's worried that Deviega might… not get what he deserves.' He cringed expecting Sydney to react angrily. When she didn't, he read her muted reaction as ominous. 'The Indian authorities are desperate to pin something on him for that dodgy dig last year, but they're having difficulty finding evidence…'

'The best witness would be that baggage, Molly!' observed Preston.

'Yes,' replied Nigel, 'but she's vanished. And she's hardly going to show her face around here with a murder rap on her head.'

'Surely they'll get something on him for shooting you?'

Nigel shuddered. 'He's pleading self-defence. God, I really don't want to go through some sort of trial… I just want to get back to normal.'

''Normal' in your life seems to involve regularly getting shot at,' added Preston, inappropriately jolly. Nigel glared at him.

'Anyway,' continued Nigel, still acutely aware of Sydney's silence, 'at least a dozen other countries are trying to get extradition orders, plus Interpol are staking their claim. Derek is worried that, with Deviega's contacts, he might somehow…'

'… slip through the net again. ' Sydney finished his sentence plainly. 'Well, it hasn't happened yet.'

'What if it does?'

'I can control myself, Nigel,' said Sydney calmly. 'I'll be ready if he comes after us.' She flashed him a reassuring smile. 'Apart from that, I have other priorities.'

'Relic hunting?' grinned Nigel, relieved at how Sydney was taking the news.

'Yeah,' smiled Sydney. 'And I've got a hunch Sydney Carraway had some other unfinished business… '

She swore suddenly and honked loudly on the car horn. 'Did you see that? The drivers here are nearly as terrible as that cab driver in Paris. You remember him Nigel? That time we were with Stewie?'

'I'm not sure I could forget.' Nigel recalled the regretful destruction of historical documents that ensued from that particular violent journey.

'Has Sydney ever been on the M25?' inquired Preston.

'I don't think so,' returned his brother, with a cheeky smile. 'Neither has she engaged in the London rush-hour. She really doesn't know the meaning of bad driving…'

……………………………………………

_**1875: All Saints Church, Meerutan.**_

'_Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…'_

_The sad little party gathered around as the coffin was lowered into its grave, to the west of the nave of All Saints Church. The building, although a pastiche of old English styles with its pointed arches and stained-glass windows, was new, barely twelve years old. There was still burial space inside, but it was filling up quickly. Nigel Finchley had not been the first young Englishman to die in India. _

_Miss Sydney Carraway, dressed in black, leant upon Sir Preston Finchley and wept openly. Few who saw her then would have thought her a nigh-invincible adventuress. With her face half concealed under a gauze-like veil, she was the perfect picture of vulnerable, Victorian womanhoo, although her trembling lip belied a will of steel and a heart of oak._

_The baronet too, was an exemplary image of masculine Englishness, severe but unshaken, stoic in his loss. No tear sullied his cheek in this public place, although his head was bowed. Inside, his guilt gnawed at his spirit with such ferocity he believed he could never raise his chin again. He no longer cared about his fortune: he couldn't live with his brother, but life without him seemed desolate. He felt pathetically weak. _

_Captain Lloyd waited a little way back from the chief mourners, his uniform patched up to an almost ceremonial standard. He stood straight, respectful, and unashamed of the dampness about his eyes. He'd seen many men buried, but never a friend. For the first time, he understood the true sting of loss._

_The clergyman finished his final prayers, nodded respectfully to Sydney and Preston, then shuffled off for a reviving cup of tea. The mourners stayed still, and the Captain joined them. They stared silently down at the light wood coffin._

'_Did you love him?' _

_Sydney was slightly shocked by Preston's question at such a moment. She chose her words carefully. 'I was very fond of him. Although our acquaintance was short, I'd never met anybody like Nigel: we were so different, but he shared my passion…it was the perfect matching of minds. But there was never anything else between us. He was just a boy…' _

_Despite her efforts, she cursed herself for her final, patronising words. Nigel had been so different from the men that she 'romanced,' adventurous rogues who she could never trust. He had eclipsed them all in her affections. But then there had been his illness, which had smothered any physical attraction with a maternal anxiety. _

'_What if he had lived longer?'_

'_I don't know. Right now, I just can't bear to think about it…' She could feel Captain Lloyd listening to her intently, and she suspected he was thinking badly off her. _

_The door of the church creaked open. They all turned at once. However, it was not the workman. It was Meena._

_Dressed in a wine-red robe, she flowed into the church, and pattered over to Miss Carraway. The haughty look she imparted to Captain Lloyd indicated that the rift between them had not healed. _

_Sydney, despite everything, had to fight a huge desire to give Dirk a good, hard kick to the head._

'_I'm so sorry,' pleaded Meena. 'But I need to speak to you.'_

'_What about?' asked Sydney, taking a step back from the grave._

'_The…the Diamond Ruby. I want you to take it. De Veleye's return started rumours flying that he was on the trail of a precious jewel. Since his arrest, I have received so many unwanted visitors: British soldiers, local scoundrels, adventurers from out-of-town. A Colonel Fitzpatrick left his calling card only this morning. I just can't keep it safe.'_

'_It doesn't belong with me,' said Sydney, as the frightened girl retrieved the jewel from her robes. Silence descended again. Her brow furrowed at a notion that at first seemed terrible. _

_After a moment, Meena said: 'Please. There must be somewhere?'_

'_I have thought of a place to hide it,' whispered Sydney, 'one that greedy plunderers will never think of looking in. Meena, do you know the stonemason? Is he a reliable man?'_

'_The very best. He was a close friend of my father. Why do you ask?'_

'_We need to conceal the Ruby in such a way that it can be retrieved only by us, or by future generations who we would want to find it. And I have an idea… ' _

………………………………………………………………….

**21st century: All Saints Church, Meerutan.**

After some navigation through the hectic traffic, Sydney, Nigel and Preston pulled up outside All Saints Church.

The church, surrounded by little graveyard, was nestled in a street of modest, low-lying wooden houses. Outside one of the nearest residences, sat an elderly woman, dressed in a blue sari and a long, silky headdress, fastened with a sparkling, silver jewel. She was rolling to and fro in a clunky, colonial-looking, dark wood rocking chair. As the car engine switched off, she looked up from the sequined cushion she was embellishing with interest.

'Very English,' observed Preston, admiring the red sandstone structure of the church. 'I should think it was built in the 1860s. You can see the early influence of the 'arts and crafts' movement. Truly fine.'

They bundled out of the car and Sydney led the charge towards the place of worship, which was topped with a small belfry that gave it the air of a schoolhouse. There were plenty of graves surrounding it, mainly military ones. They were inscribed with the names and ages of many young British soldiers.

Nigel, following on at the back, stopped to peruse them.

'Maybe Nigel Finchley was buried out here?'

'No,' said Preston adamantly. 'He was the second son of a baronet. He would have been buried…

'… inside the church.'

Sydney finished his sentence even as she tried the door, which nestled at the back of a large, airy porch. It was locked. Without further delay, she rammed her shoulder against it and busted it down.

'Shouldn't we should tone things done a little for the house of God?' ventured Preston.

Sydney ignored him, and slipped inside. The crisp, coolness of its interior was almost a shock after the balmy heat of India, and made the church seem all the more like a stray, capsule of Englishness, rudely dumped many thousand miles from home.The only light seeped in from the open door and dark-shaded stained-glass windows. She brought out her flashlight. 'Boy, that's a _lot_ of memorials.'

'There was an extraordinary high mortality rate among British settlers in India during the Raj,' said Nigel, who had just joined her. He glanced around the script clad walls, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

Sydney illuminated each one in turn. Men, women and children were listed side by side, and few of them were of an advanced age. The inscribed reasons for death rekindled each sad story: 'died of cholera', 'died of apoplexy', 'died of heat exhaustion', 'accidentally drowned', 'died of fever'.

'Maybe they should have stayed at home,' muttered Sydney.

Finding no familiar names on the east side of the church, she finally made her way over to the west. There, about halfway down and high up on the wall, was plaque of the Virgin Mary. Beneath it was an elaborately carved niche, occupied by a statue of a decorous weeping angel, oozing with high Victorian pathos. The text beneath it, although she was prepared for it, made her blood run cold.

_Here lies Nigel Edmund Finchley,_

_Beloved brother of Sir Preston Finchley, 8th Baronet, of Finchley Hall, Kent._

_Died in the Malibi Mountains, 11th November, 1875, aged 21 years._

_Good night, sweet prince,_

_And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!_

_Note IX. p. 134._

'Hamlet,' murmured Sydney. 'Sydney Carraway chose that inscription. I know it.'

There was no reply, although she could sense that Nigel and Preston were now both standing close behind her.

'Oh God,' whispered Preston after a moment. 'I…I… I've got this terrible sense of déjà vu again.'

'Me too,' breathed Sydney. Stepping back, she slipped her hand into Nigel's. 'Are you all right?'

'Actually,' replied Nigel, 'I'm fine. I can't say this is not a _little_ unsettling, but I don't feel like I've ever been here before. It doesn't say what he…um, I, died of.'

'No it doesn't,' admitted Sydney. 'But now I've fitted everything together, I'm pretty sure Nigel Finchley died of a longstanding illness, aggravated by the strain of the journey to India. He really _did_ make a great sacrifice for her…'

She was glad Nigel hadn't pulled his hand away. It provided comfort to her, and she hoped it did to him.

Nigel merely sighed: 'What's our first move, then, Syd? I hope you don't think they hid it, um, well, err, in the grave itself. That really might freak me out.'

'Sydney doesn't think so,' chipped in Preston. 'And _I_ bloody hope not. Ugh!'

Nigel glowered at his brother for good measure, as Sydney began to shine a torch inquisitively around the little memorial. The weeping angel wobbled slightly when she tugged it, but nothing happened. There were no obvious signs of a secret compartment.

'You don't think the Ruby is revealed by something funny like dripping water,' suggested Nigel, 'like with that rusty old contraption in the sewers?'

Sydney shook her head thoughtfully. 'I don't reckon so. De Veleye probably set that trap in London. Sydney Carraway would've wanted something he'd never work out, even if he came back many years later.'

Nigel crouched down and began to inspect the epitaph more closely.

'This is odd. I'm pretty sure that this quote from Hamlet comes from Act five, Scene two.'

'It does,' replied Sydney. 'What's your point?'

'It says here _Note IX. p. 134_. That doesn't sound like a Shakespearean reference to me.'

'No it doesn't,' frowned Sydney. 'It sounds much more like a reference from a history or archaeology book…'

'Or from a work of 19th-century historical fiction?' Nigel pulled out 'The Fortunes of Nigel' from where it seemed to have taken residence in his pocket. He began to flick keenly through the pages, as Sydney shone her torch upon them. Preston, having fought the urge to say, 'Oh God, not that bloody book again,' hovered half-heartedly at Nigel's shoulder.

'Here we are…_ Note IX. p. 134_. How obscure. It's about chivalric customs of the 17th century. There's even a poem.'

'Look, there.' Preston pointed to some ornate pencil scribblings some way down the little page. 'Isn't that the text you showed me before you went running off to that cave? The nice handwriting?'

'It is,' admitted Nigel. He reread the handwritten verse.

'_The fortunes were cruel, and all that is precious now lies within_.'

'It all makes sense now,' said Preston mournfully.

'Yes, and it's still very trite,' snapped Nigel. 'And it doesn't tell us how to find this thing.'

'Yes, but the printed text next to it does, ' said Syd, excitement swelling in her gut.

'What do you mean?' asked Preston, rather miffed at Nigel's harsh words.

Nigel read the printed text marked by the sentimental handwriting out loud:

_'…to geld a jewel_

_Of an odd stone or so;_

_twinge three and four buttons_

_From off our lady's gown…'_

'Buttons!' exclaimed Nigel. 'Are there any buttons on the angel, Syd?'

'I don't think so,' said Sydney.

'It's a bit useless then,' retorted Nigel. 'It's a hideous, Victorian chocolate-box thing. I can't tell if it's a man or a woman…'

'Maybe it's supposed to be Nigel!' snorted Preston, and then backed off quickly, scared he was about to receive a fraternal punch.

'I don't look like a girl, Preston!'

'Maybe not. But they did cast you as the Virgin Mary in the prep school nativity play...'

'Nigel played the Virgin Mary?' Sydney just about managed to not laugh.

'Oh, yes. All the mothers thought Podge was adorable! Of course, everyone else knew he looked a prat.'

'It was an all-boys school,' muttered Nigel. 'I didn't ask for the part, and I was teased mercilessly for it… the others might have forgotten if Preston hadn't kept reminding everyone for the next ten years!'

'I think it's kind of sweet,' said Sydney, raising her hand to calm flaring emotions. 'And you've given me an idea. 'Our Lady' isn't the angel, it's the Virgin Mary.'

'The Virgin Mary?'

'Yeah.' Sydney shone her torch back up the wall towards the plaque above the memorial. 'I thought she looked rather out of place in an Anglican Church!'

'Does she have buttons?'

'I'll climb up and see.' She beckoned Preston from where he was smirking in the gloom, and handed him the torch with a withering glare. She was about to hoist herself up by placing place her foot in the niche, when she hesitated. It seemed rather disrespectful to be clambering all over Nigel's memorial.

Nigel detected her indecision. 'Don't worry, Syd. We'll find Miss Carraway's grave next time we're in Boston, then I can trample all over that.'

'Don't you dare!' laughed Sydney, swinging herself up and taking care not to topple the fragile angel. 'Well, not unless it's got some precious relic hidden near it…'

'We'll have to start calling you a Tomb Raider, not a Relic Hunter!' chirped Nigel.

Preston shone the torch directly upon Sydney's curvaceous bottom: 'Does that mean she'll start wearing hotpants like Lara Croft?'

The brothers laughed heartily, unified by their shared fantasies.

'Zip it, you two… and can I have the light on the plaque, please?' She perused it closely. 'I think I've got something. This Virgin Mary has four buttons on her robes.'

'Can you 'twinge' the third and fourth?' asked Nigel, worrying he was being a little blasphemous.

'Yeah…'

Sydney tweaked the buttons. A silence was followed by grinding noise. A small click echoed around the church like the voice of Providence.

The plaque with the inscription had swung completely open revealing a hidden compartment. Inside, in the blackness, something rested on a decaying fabric cushion.

Preston shone the torch into the compartment instantly.

'The Diamond Ruby!' gasped Nigel, as Sydney leapt to the ground, carefully avoiding landing on either brother's head.

She crouched down beside them. 'Are you going to take it out then, Nigel?'

Just then, the door of the Church creaked open. Nigel, instinctively, grabbed the jewel and placed it in the top, right pocket of his shirt. Sydney seized the torch off Preston and leapt to her feet.

She shone it in the direction of the newcomer: 'Who's there?'

…………………………….

_**1875: All Saints Church, Meerutan.**_

_Sir Preston and Miss Carraway glared at each other. The Sexton waited, his chisel poised above the little stone plaque that the stonemason had fixed on the front of the memorial, while the final wording was decided upon._

'_What's wrong with my verse?' repeated Preston. 'I think it's very poignant…'_

'_I'm paying for this!'_

'_And I feel badly about that…'_

'_You're bankrupt, Preston! At least you will be until you sign that contract to go into partnership with my father…'_

'_I'm very grateful,' grumbled Preston, 'but all the same, he is my brother.'_

'_I've let you have the weeping angel: it's very pretty, but I can't tell if it's a boy or a girl! But I'm afraid your verse is awful. For someone so careless about his brother's life, you're hideously sentimental about his death!' She felt slightly guilty as she articulated these final words, but she wanted to win this argument._

_Preston looked hurt. 'That isn't fair. Nigel loved Sir Walter Scott…'_

'_The words are yours, not Scott's! Besides, anything directly from the book would link too obviously to the clue. We're going with Hamlet!'_

_Preston was still reeling at her previous accusation. As the engraver began to chip the inscription, she slipped her arm through his._

'_I'm sorry about what I said. You weren't really careless of Nigel's life. At least, no more than I was. Nigel knew how sick he was. In the end, it was his desire to see the task through that dealt the fatal blow.'_

_Preston shook his head slowly. The truth could not alleviate the nagging guilt and the endless 'What if's…?' _

'_Do you think he would have minded?' asked Preston, after a minute. 'Us leaving the… 'you know what' here?'_

'_He would have understood. Only you, I, Captain Lloyd and Meena will know. We must all keep the secret quiet, and it's for Meena and her descendants to decide when it's safe for the Diamond Ruby to return to its place in the crown of Vishnu.'_

'_I wonder when that will be?'_

'_Maybe not in our lifetimes,' replied Sydney. 'Possibly never…'_

_While the Sexton completed his task, Meena, who had been waiting without with Captain Lloyd, wandered into the church. She was alone, her expression blank._

'_Where did the Captain go?'_

'_To the barracks. And then…'_

'_Then?'_

'_Then Captain Lloyd will be rejoining his regiment in Bombay.'_

_Sydney placed her fingers on her friends folded arm. 'I'm sorry…'_

'_So am I,' she said quietly. 'But I think it's better this way…'_

_Sydney nodded, and wondered if her path would ever cross that of Captain Lloyd is again. He had been greatly affected by Nigel's death, and deep down she believed he was a good man. She could not quell her anger, however, about his treatment of Meena. She vowed that, should their multitudinous adventures throw them together again, she would never be seduced by the charms of Dirk Lloyd. _

_After a few while, the Sexton completed his task. Sydney handed him some coins on his departure, and then she and her companions examined his handiwork._

'_It reads beautifully,' confirmed Sydney, before Preston could object. _

'_The reference below the epitaph will lead me straight to the passage in Nigel's book?' asked Meena._

'_That's right,' said Sydney. 'Preston. Have you given the book to Meena yet? She's the one who will hopefully retrieve the Ruby one-day.'_

'_No…' said Preston slowly. 'I really don't want to part with it. I know you think I'm sentimental, and that I have no right to be, but… although I can't take Nigel, I can take his favourite book back to the home he loved.' He stroked the leather cover of the book with his thumb. 'My brother treated it almost like a diary, you know? I used to laugh at him…but...but now…' He swallowed hard, struggling manfully with his emotions._

_Sydney hadn't the heart to argue. 'All right, Preston. Meena, I'll write and order another copy of the book from London. It may take some months to arrive, but I'll stay with you until then. I don't feel ready to leave myself yet…' The thought of staying so long away from her father evoked a stab of regret. Nevertheless, with his young fiancée, her father had a new life to look forward to; all she could feel was loss._

'_You can both stay with me as long as you wish…Oh!' Meena handed Sydney a scrap of paper. 'Captain Lloyd asked me to give this to you.'_

_Sydney, straining her eyes in the candlelight, read the paper quickly and then scrunched it up viciously. _

'_What does it say?' asked Meena. _

'_It says that the Captain is concerned that De Veleye will not be imprisoned for long.'_

'_I thought he said they'd throw away the key?'_

'_He says he will do his best,' she spat, 'but soldiers and even generals come and go quickly around here. Too few remain to testify for all his crimes…'_

'_Oh…'_

_Sydney stared blankly at the pathetically weeping angel and realised that tears could never satiate her loss. The note reignited the spark of fury that had been smothered by grief, and she decided that somebody was to blame for Nigel's death: De Veleye._

_The vow was made in the house of God: 'I'll hunt you down… and I care not how long it takes.'_

_Her hushed tones echoed to the tips of the Gothic arches. Preston heard her fateful words, but they did little to alleviate his scarring guilt. _

_He opened Nigel's book to the page of the appendices at the back that contained the poem Sydney had chosen as their code. Taking out a lead pencil, he carefully inscribed that lines he had intended for the memorial in the margins. He didn't date it, but they were the last hand written words ever added to the much abused, and much loved, little book. _

………………………………

**21st century: All Saints Church, Meerutan.**

'Hello, who is it?'

A tiny figure shuffled through the doorway, and Preston ducked down behind one of the wooden pews. Nigel stayed, steadfast, at Sydney's shoulder. Neither sensed any threat.

'Hello?'

'Miss Sydney Carraway?'

The reply came in a small, tremulous voice, which obviously belonged to a very elderly woman.

'Err, no,' replied Sydney. Lowering the torch so it did not stun the visitor's eyes, she made her way in the direction of the newcomer, her hand outstretched. 'My name is Professor Sydney Fox. This is my teaching assistant, Nigel Bailey.'

In response, the woman placed her two hands together in a traditional Indian greeting. Sydney responded likewise.

'She said that Sydney would come when there was somewhere safe to take the Diamond Ruby. And this is Nigel…?'

Sydney's eyes now focused upon the little old woman, who was well under five foot tall. She recognised her as the occupant of the rocking chair outside.

'Yes. Who are you?' asked Sydney, the tone congenial. 'And who said Sydney would come?'

'Don't try and tell me that's Meena,' hissed Preston, popping up from his hiding place. 'She'd be over 150 years old!'

The elderly woman regarded him as an idiot. 'Don't be silly, young man. My name is Amari. Meena was my grandmother!'

'It's wonderful to meet you.' Sydney was truly thrilled at the prospect. 'Amari, did your grandmother really say Sydney would come for the Ruby?'

'Ah yes. Poor old grandmother! She was a wonderful woman but, by the end she became rather confused. She kept our family secret close to her chest, promising to impart it only on her deathbed. When the time came, all she could remember was that Sydney would come and everything would be all right.'

'Poor Meena!' exclaimed Nigel. 'No wonder nobody ever found the Ruby!'

Sydney nodded at Nigel who retrieved the Ruby from his top pocket. It sparkled in the thin rays of sunlight that filtered through the church door. Sheer joy lit up the elderly woman's face.

'The Diamond Ruby! It was here all along? No wonder grandmother made the strange decision to move our household to by the English Church.'

Nigel passed it to her, and watched as she fondled its smooth surfaces in her old, wrinkled hands.

Sydney and Nigel shared a smile

'I knew the time was right for the Ruby to move on. A terrible man came asking after it the other week. I sent him into the Malibi Mountains, and he never came back… '

'Deviega,' muttered Nigel under his breath. Sydney did not react.

'You knew about the cave?' she asked.

'I knew it was empty, nothing more…'

'How did you know I was Sydney?' asked the Professor after a moment.

'My grandmother used to talk about you. Your ambition, your intensity, your strength and your beauty are exactly as she described. When I saw you stride up to the church and break the door down, it had to be you.'

'But don't you believe Sydney Carraway is dead?'

'Ah, no doubt you do, my dear. But the soul carries on in mysterious ways. In my religion, we believe that we all come back in some form or other…'

'Isn't it odd that somebody should come back in such a similar form?' inquired Nigel.

'Maybe not… all good souls strive to attain perfection, and it's likely that Miss Carraway had some unfinished affairs that required her to incarnate a very similar physical and mental form…'

'Very possibly,' said Sydney, raising her eyebrows at the little old ladies lucidity. 'If so, it could have been that Meena wasn't as mad as you thought her. Maybe she believed I really would come back when the time was right…'

'I'm sure grandmother would have prayed for the soul of Miss Carraway,' Amari's eyes wandered onto Nigel, 'and for those she loved. '

She handed the Ruby back to Sydney and pulled from her bag a leather bound book.

'Grandmother always kept this. It seemed an odd book for her to cherish, and she never appeared to read it.' She thrust the volume into Nigel's hands. 'As a child I always imagined there might be a link between it and to a young man called Nigel whose memorial I saw when I snuck into the church to play. I wondered if you could shed some light on it.'

Nigel turned to the contents page. 'The Fortunes of Nigel,' he read out loud. He grimaced. 'Not again!'

'The man buried in that grave loved this book very much indeed,' explained Sydney, 'and Meena had a copy of the book because it held the key to finding the Diamond Ruby. It is probably what she meant to pass on her deathbed.'

'It was in the memorial all along?'

'Yes,' said Sydney wistfully. 'Nigel had it. And he kept it safe until the right time came. We were planning to take it to the museum in Calcutta where it will be displayed in its original setting, in the crown of Vishnu from the sacked temple in Seringapatam. We were intending to take it back with us on the sleeper train tonight. But is that what you'd like us to do?'

The elderly lady's face creased into a radiant beam. 'I would like you to do exactly that. Grandmother said you'd come and return it to its glory. She was right.'

………………………………………….

**Present-day: The Meerutan-Calcutta Railway.**

It was the early hours of the next morning before Sydney decided that she could wait alone in her bunk no longer.

The train had stopped briefly, and she could hear Preston snoring on the shelf above. Nigel was silent, but she sensed he was awake.

'Time to get down to that unfinished business,' she told herself, half serious, half playful.

Sydney slipped from her sleeping bag and crouched down on the floor between the bunks.

'Nigel?' she whispered in his ear. 'I'm going to climb in next to you.'

His eyes flew open. 'Okay,' he hissed. 'May I ask why? I can't believe that your bunk has broken again.'

'I want to talk,' said Sydney. Nigel shuffled up against the back wall, and Sydney stretched out next to him. Her full curves brushed against his chest and tummy. One of her legs entangled with his, and her toes tickled his foot, which protruded from the bottom of his unzipped sleeping bag.

'I'm not hurting you, am I?'

'You're not adding anything extra,' admitted Nigel. 'My shoulder's been bothering me all night, and these train journeys are bloody uncomfortable at the best of times…'

'I'm sorry. Would you rather I left?'

'No,' he replied quickly, enjoying her proximity. 'Of course not. What did you want to talk about? Don't tell me another of your rival relic hunters has turned up to swipe the Ruby? I'm not sure I could cope with that right now…' '

'No. It's nothing like that. I wanted to talk about us.'

'Us? What about us?'

'About what we've learned about Nigel Finchley and Sydney Carraway.'

'Oh.'

The fabric rustled, and Nigel pulled his cover tight around him. Sydney heard him exhale heavily, resignedly, and wondered why.

'In the past,' she continued, 'Sydney and Nigel never got a chance to find out how they really felt about each other. You and I have had a lot longer to get to know each other, and the past few weeks, had been … interesting, haven't they? '

'In what way?' he moaned. 'Nigel Finchley died, pathetic and sickly, when he was 21. Sydney Carraway was a beautiful, accomplished woman who would never have looked twice at him. It's…it's sort of embarrassing!'

He cringed, desperately hoping that Preston wasn't listening to this further bout of humiliation.

'You're wrong. Sydney was a driven, restless woman who fulfilled many worldly ambitions, but Nigel meant more to her than everyone else she met in all her long adventures. When he died, the tenderest part of her soul died too. Men were a game to her…she never married, she never loved. She departed this world alone, nearly poisoned by the one task she never saw through: her revenge on De Veleye.'

'That doesn't mean that she and Nigel were supposed to be together…'

Sydney felt his tenseness, even through the sheet. She realised she was going to have to fight for this.

'I'm sorry,' he continued. 'When we first met, I…I… I was very attracted to you, but you know the effect you have on all men. And now, I respect you greatly, and I care for you deeply as a friend…more than any other friend, in fact. But it isn't fair to assume that I'm dying with love for you like an infatuated schoolboy… whatever 'urges' you seem to be getting from our so-called past lives. '

In the near blackness, Sydney's mouth hovered just millimetres from Nigel's, pulling him towards her like a magnet. A lock of his soft hair tickled against her forehead as he turned his face away. She knew he was struggling against his passion in order to keep his dignity.

'I realise now what history was trying to tell me,' she pleaded. 'It wasn't about the past, it was about the present. That's why I had to kiss you on the train here… but then everything got so confused.'

'So what was history trying to tell us?' said Nigel, still not sounding very happy.

'That I love you, Nigel, and you love me. We're the perfect match of minds. We always were, and we always will be. Don't you try denying it now!'

'I'm not denying it, Syd,' confessed Nigel, daring to trust her tone of sincerity. 'We're best friends, and I care about you very much… but what's changed between us? Why did you suddenly want to kiss me?'

The pillow creased as he turned his head back towards her. She suddenly realised his lips had returned to verge upon touching her own.

Her words became hot and breathless: 'What hasn't changed? I nearly lost you…again…and myself in the process. History told me that I never repaid you for what you sacrificed…'

'History lies,' muttered Nigel. 'Let's forget the past, Syd.'

Moist, gentle lips pressed against hers. A tentative hand drifted into the small of her back, and pulled her close.

'Fine with me,' she growled, peeling away the sleeping bag and hugging him as tight as she dared. His fingers lightly stroked long, silky hair. 'It's time to start again… did I tell you just how devastatingly attractive I've found you lately? '

'Nope. But you can tell me all you like - if you let me inform you just how amazingly sexy you look in your tight, black lycra pants.'

'Nigel!' giggled Sydney, her exclamation rising above a whisper.

'Shhhhh!' Nigel repressed laughter. 'Preston might think I'm having another nightmare…'

They curled up together, tired, baffled, but happy, as the train creaked forward into the night. Despite his joy at Sydney's loving touch, and his apprehension about where this would lead in the morning, Nigel sneakily hoped that his brother was awake, and listening to each jokey sweet nothing she uttered. How jealous would Preston Bailey be now!

**This isn't quite the end… there's an epilogue on its way!**

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	18. Epilogue

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story.**

**Note to all readers: Okay, you've got this far - have you enjoyed my little story? Would you like to see more historical adventure fic like this? Please, please, I don't care how long after I originally posted this it is: REVIEW ME, EMAIL ME, LET ME KNOW. I am very obliging to requests, and always listen to suggestions :)**

…………………………………………..

**Epilogue: 21st Century - somewhere in the south of England.**

'I knew we should have taken the motorway,' seethed Preston. 'We'd be home by now! But, oh no, you insist we take the scenic route!'

Preston's Volvo bumped up the country lane, splashing through large muddy puddles that filled cavernous holes in the broken down the road surface. Water sprayed up on either side, soiling the shiny, light blue metallic paintwork.

'I hope you're going to clean this car when we get home, Nigel!'

'He's supposed to be taking it easy, remember?' interrupted Sydney. 'That's why you insisted he stay with you.'

After the triumphant return of the Diamond Ruby to the museum in Calcutta, Preston, inspired by his newfound fondness for his brother, had begged Nigel to spend the remainder of his sick leave with him back in London. Nigel had eventually agreed, mainly because he had a ton of references to check in the British Library for his 'oh-so-nearly-finished' PhD thesis. Sydney had decided to pop along for a few days, partially to see how things would settle between her and Nigel, but also to soften the inevitable outbreak of World War 3 between the brothers. As suspected, the first missiles were being launched even before they reached home.

As Preston muttered irritably under his breath, Sydney decided it was time to aid her assistant. He had had disappeared almost entirely under the vast sheet of the ordnance survey map, as he tried to pin point their location.

'Nigel, have you any idea where we are?'

'We'd be have been fine if we took that turning I suggested near Windsor,' came a muffled voice. 'But when he insisted we follow the signs to Croydon, it completely spoiled my plans. And since he took that ridiculous detour to overtake the tractor, I don't know how anyone expects me to know where we are!' Nigel wrestled the map down to manageable size, not an easy task with only one good arm. He emerged, red-faced, from beneath its bulk to have a look around.

'We can't be that far off track…oh, look, there's some oast houses.'

Her eyes following where Nigel pointed, Sydney surveyed a pretty, whitewashed farmhouse, undoubtedly more than a couple of centuries old. Two, squat round towers were attached to its side. They had brown tiled conical roofs, topped with little, slanted white hats. One of them had a wind-vane on the top, shaped like a rearing horse.

'What are we doing driving by a bloody oast house, Nigel? Since when was Kentish vernacular architecture to be found between Heathrow and Hampstead?'

'You find oast houses in Sussex as well, you know!'

'Sussex?' squeaked Preston. 'That's even further off route… but we are not in Sussex, are we? That wind vane is unmistakably a _Kent_ Invicta.'

Nigel glared at his brother, but quietly conceded that Preston was probably right.

'Can I help? reiterated Sydney.

'Please do,' grunted Preston. 'He is obviously completely incapable!'

'I'm fine, Sydney,' articulated Nigel emphatically. 'I'm sure I recognise that farm… I know exactly where I am.'

Sydney shrugged, not wanting to undermine Nigel's lie, and leaned back in her seat.

Ignoring most of the brothers' banter, she had been enjoying herself, distracted sporadically from an interesting paper on Amazonian nude sculpture by the countryside of southern England in winter: grey rolling hills, decorous commuter-belt cottages, stately homes shut for the season, and derelict shops.

The naked skeletons of cherry bushes, apple trees and hop gardens were overawed by the towering pylons, which marched across the landscape like an invading army of long-legged aliens. Nevertheless, a frail beauty remained, despite the many centuries of overuse by the greedy hand of man.

After a few more minutes of Preston's jerky driving down the winding, badly surfaced road, Nigel says suddenly: 'Pull over Preston, I need some air.'

'Oh God, I can't believe you still get travel sick!'

Nigel clumsily crunched the map down onto his seat, and climbed out of the car.

'No I don't still get travel sick, not usually. But you try reading the map while someone veers a ruddy great Volvo down these tiny lanes. It enough to turn anybody's stomach.'

He stomped several metres across a grassy verge, disturbing a rabbit, which darted back under a hedge. A little cluster of daffodils were prematurely pushing their way through the hard winter soil. Sydney wandered over to join him, placing her hand on one of his folded arms, as he stared resolutely across an empty paddock towards the steely sky.

'So we're back in Kent, you reckon?'

'I guess so,' said Nigel. 'To be honest, I think we've erred down some way towards Sevenoaks.'

'Are we back near Finchley Hall?'

'I don't think so, Syd. We're still miles from Canterbury. Why? Did you want to go and have another look?'

'Don't you? I don't think you _ever_ showed it to me properly…'

'Good God!' interjected Preston, who was gawping at them from the car. 'You're not seriously proposing we go breaking and entering again? Haven't we pushed our luck enough lately?'

'Preston has a point,' grimaced Nigel.

Sydney grinned mischievously: 'It would be fun, though, wouldn't it?'

Preston mumbled something about nobody ever listening to the voice of sense, and switched on the radio. It was tuned, as ever, to Classic FM. The strains of an old waltz by Strauss started wafting through the still, January air.

An inkling of recognition sparkled across Sydney's face. Nigel, too, stopped and listened.

Sydney hummed lightly to the tune that had seized her in a hotel room just after their first visit to the cave. Her toes twitched, and her hips began to sway lightly.

A heart-warming grin spread across Nigel's face. He held out his good hand. 'May I have this dance, Miss Fox?'

Her smile radiantly matched his: 'With much pleasure, Mr Bailey!'

Sydney slipped her arm around Nigel shoulders, while he meandered his hand around her waist. He led her off with the carefully place stepped to the left, which avoided the daffodils, only to squelch on a sodden piece of turf.

Preston muttered another oath, and covered his eyes with his hands. 'You lead off to the right, Nigel… and preferably not through a patch of mud. Oh God…lighter steps! Lighter please… '

Nigel ignored Preston but grinned Nigel sheepishly, as he saw the brown sludge splash up Sydney's black leggings. 'Sorry. I'm not sure why I'm doing this…'

'Because it's fun, Nigel. Let's keep doing it.'

'Let's do that,' replied Nigel. 'And if it annoys, Preston,' he whispered. 'That's a bonus… I just hope I don't tread on your toes!'

Sydney rolled her eyes, but continued to enjoy herself immensely even as the soggy ground squidged beneath her feet. She adored the gentle way Nigel's hand rested on her hips, and their movements synchronised disarmingly naturally. As the waltz entered its final stanza, he grinned delightedly.

'I think I'm getting the hang of this. I have waltzed before, you know?'

'I know you have,' she smiled.

'You do?'

'Yeah,' she leaned in and spoke confidentially. Preston had started rummaging distractedly around the car, studiously avoiding looking at them. 'Last week we had a lot of time to talk, and Preston told me all about those ballroom dancing classes your mother made you both attend. Apparently he ran run off with all the medals… but something about the way he told the story convinced me that it with you who all the girls wanted to dance with.'

Nigel shrugged, his cheeks flushing pink. 'I guess I was never short of a partner…'

'I bet you weren't. It can't be easy being your older brother,' she laughed.

'Maybe not,' he conceded. 'I guess neither of us have gone out of our way to make the other look good… but it certainly hasn't been easy being Preston's younger brother!'

'Oh, Nigel! I don't suppose you'll ever learn to get on, even though you're both so alike.' He was holding her tight now, and she was so close that her breath ruffled his hair. 'But you're not that alike. There are reasons that its you I'm in love with…'

'Good God!'

The dance was interrupted abruptly by Preston's shout from the car.

'What is it?' asked Syd, slightly annoyed that their moment had been shattered.

He handed her a piece of paper that he seemed very keen to get rid of. 'I found this in the glove compartment!'

Sydney frowned as she read the words written in red ink pen:

'Nigel,

I'm sorry about what happened in the cave. I never meant for you to get hurt.

I should probably have taken your advice before, and moved on, but I couldn't let that bastard get away with it. Now I see the consequences of my actions could have destroyed me completely.

I'm going to try and start over, but it isn't going to be easy after what I've done. I hope I will see you at that history conference, one day. If I do, I will have a new name, and a new life. Maybe then we can begin again?

Best wishes,

Molly Gages

PS - tell Preston he needs to improve the security on his new Volvo.'

'That woman really doesn't know when to let things lie!' exclaimed Sydney.

'I feel a bit sorry for her,' sighed Nigel. 'I wonder what will really become of her?'

'I hope she manages to start again, like she says.' Sydney folded the piece of paper, and tucked it away. 'She liked you, Nigel.'

Nigel couldn't quite deny it. 'She didn't really know me,' he muttered, contemplating his now non-moving boots.

The final strains of the waltz were ebbing from the car. Preston was frantically searching every nook and cranny in his beloved vehicle, checking for any more bugs.

'I know you, Nigel,' said Sydney. ' I think I know you now, better than I ever have done before...'

'We do go back a long way, don't we?' he replied quietly.

'Yeah,' breathed Sydney, her lips closing in on his. His gaze flittered upwards to meet hers and she stared intently into his light, hazel eyes.

'The only question that remains,' he continued, 'is where do we go from here?'

The music finally ceased and their lips touched, as Preston, his car and the bright, winter world vanished. All that existed in time and space – for Sydney and Nigel – was each other.

It was only when Sydney broke away, that her world started spinning again, heady and fast.

'We just go on,' she told him, her words calm while her body rushed with emotion. 'We just go on. But we have learned something from history, haven't we? You and I are supposed to be together.'

'It's a bit of cliché, Syd!'

Nigel smiled sheepishly. She knew that his feelings were sincere, and wondered if his light words were for the benefit of Preston's straining ears.

'But I suppose, just this once,' he continued, 'we can take something from the lessons of the past…'

'Okay, just this once, then…'

Preston beeped loudly on the car horn, but Sydney wasn't listening. Neither was Nigel. They were testing a hypothesis suggested by the most recent history: that the truest happiness they had ever known was to be found in each other's arms.

THE END

**Thanks for reading this all the way to the (rather sappy) end! **

**PLEASE, KIND READER, REVIEW ME! CAN YOU IMAGINE THE NUMBER OF HOURS OF MY LIFE I WASTED/PASSED IN PLEASURE WRITING THIS THING???? ITS THE SAME LENGTH AS A RUDDY NOVEL...PLEASE, PLEEEEAAAASE REVIEW!!!!**


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